"Now, Sir, I'll trouble you for your coat. ” Anna was not late, but her heart sank within her when she entered the drawingroom. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. 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. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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