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He was the Napoleon of knavery, and established an uncontrolled empire over all the practitioners of crime. He said that for him beauty justified life, that he could not imagine a good action that was not a beautiful one nor any beautiful thing that could be altogether bad. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. He was very aware of her placing his penis between her legs. "If I could work as fast as you, I might afford to be as idle. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. She had once reconciled in her mind that she was happy as long as she had him. "Well, how goes it?" he asked.
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