There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor. “Look, dear,” she said presently, “you can put the ten on the Jack. Will you?” She thought, and it seemed to him she had never looked so self-disciplined and deliberate and beautiful. He was an officer, and a person of very great sense, and altogether a desirable parti. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me.
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