"Oh! nothin' partickler—mere curossity," replied Terence. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. 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. “Call me Annabel. She had expected sympathetic admiration, but instead the whole Widgett family, except Teddy, expressed a common dismay. She can't last long.
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