F. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. Then with an indescribable relief her feet were on the pavement, and she was being urged along by two policemen, who were gripping her wrists in an irresistible expert manner. I’ll have to think of something else. She hadn't measured up; she had been stupid; she hadn't known how to make love. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine.
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