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She had not anticipated such a response from her classmates, but knew to be drawing them with her self-consciousness as if they were bees to pollen. But really it is much more than that. ” The doctor looked at her thoughtfully. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. ” “Do you mean,” Courtlaw asked, “that from now to the end of the six months you do not wish to see us—any of us?” Her eyes were a little dim again. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. But, when the sound of the carriage-wheels died away, and he felt that she was actually gone, his resolution failed him, and he rang the bell violently. . He was into the passage in time to see her slip into another chamber at the end.
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