“I am sorry,” she said, “if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her. 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. Melusine choked on a laugh, and Gerald at once seized the initiative, speaking in a tone deliberately soothing.
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