Portrait Of Lisa

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Sin was the fashion of her set, only — fashions go out of style

From the back:

I’ve Painted You, Lisa — The Lush, Wanton Beauty Of You. Not The Soul, Lisa — Only The Tempting Body, The Soul, Lisa — I Couldn’t. It Will Have To Wait Until We Meet In Hell

Portrait Of Lisa ruthlessly reveals the inverted morals of the station-wagon set — the jaded idlers of New York and Connecticut. Here is a golden — and tarnished — way of life, with all it’s elegance and sordid sensations

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