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. ” “Oh, gimme a break, Lucy. Wood, disdainfully. “And you?” “Same thing. After all, it was really rather funny. His treatment of his wife is most unsatisfactory. “Not a bit of it. ’” “Yes?” “I think—yes, I went on in a pleasing blend of the casual and sotto voce, ‘The fact of it is, sir, I happen to be your son-in-law, Capes. Lucy aimed the firearm at Rhea’s chest. His inclinations prompted him most decidedly to take the vacant chair. Clothes.
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