" "But a man may love his wife!" cried Spurlock, utterly bewildered. " "Fear nothing. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. I don’t know. . “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. “They have all been trying to turn my head. “You are beautiful, Lucy. His face was white.
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