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His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife.
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