A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. ‘Quite wrong, monsieur. They sell only their talents, not their bodies; they are not girls of the street. " "I'll tell you what. “This is the slavery of the veiled life. You used to beg me for hours at a time to give it all up, never to go near the ‘Ambassador’s’ again.
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