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. "Now—begin. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. “You know, my mom caught me smoking once with Missy. ” He strode away and vanished in the gathering fog.
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