I do not think that I have the Bohemian spirit at all. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. I'm not particular what or where. Befuddle yourself, if you want to. A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling. I’ve got a streak of male.
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