" "Look at it, then," said Wild, giving him the portfolio. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. " Then he became merciful. It proved to be a human head, though with scarcely a vestige of the features remaining. “Alice—Alice gone dotty, and all over kids. Your name. She liked to cook even though normal food was not nourishing to her. You may fall into the hands of your enemy. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. 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. It wouldn’t be you. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly.
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