‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. But women—women as a rule don’t throw themselves into things like that. I'm not interested in him.
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