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Teddy was the hatless young man who had turned Ann Veronica aside from the Avenue two days before. “She is living there now,” she remarked. We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne. Lost me place, that’s all. There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes.
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