“I have made no progress with my work,” she said slowly, “and the money was gone. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand. Her teeth were chattering so hard that she had to clench them for fear of biting off her own tongue. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. ‘Whereas my need was very great indeed.
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