At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. "I've done with you. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. "But you do agitate me so much. 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.
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