” Again on his way homeward from Cavendish Square he abandoned the direct route to pass by the door of Anna’s flat. we’ll stop by the Amoco on Maple. I’ve—dreads. I’ll wait my whole life!” He cried. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. He touched it again, and this time it was not withdrawn. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said. They compromised at length on the science course at the Tredgold Women’s College—she had already matriculated into London University from school—she came of age, and she bickered with her aunt for latch-key privileges on the strength of that and her season ticket. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. For a time she furnished the flat.
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