He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. Anna leaned back with half closed eyes. Gently each time Ruth drew down the arms. "But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder. "What do you mean?" cried Winifred in alarm. She laid her hand upon his arm. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter.
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