"Go to your own room, woman, directly, or I'll make you!" "Make me!" echoed Mrs. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. The City worried him a good deal, and what energy he had left over he spent partly in golf, a game he treated very seriously, and partly in the practices of microscopic petrography. "Can't you see? I can't hurt her, if … if she cares! I can't tell her I'm a madman as well as a thief!… What a fool! What a fool!" A thief. Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to have changed—to have changed in some subtle manner which I find at times utterly bewildering. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is.
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