Chapter 1787 of 1964 · 60 words · ~1 min read

LVII.

His fame too,--for he had that kind of fame Which sometimes plays the deuce with Womankind, A heterogeneous mass of glorious blame, Half virtues and whole vices being combined; Faults which attract because they are not tame; Follies tricked out so brightly that they blind:-- These seals upon her wax made no impression, Such was her coldness or her self-possession.