Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. “Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do. There was no such a thing as perfection in a mixed world. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. He boasted of her ability to learn to men who were a stone’s throw from having the power of the pope himself.
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