“Forgive you, indeed. I’ll do it. She chose to hold her nose. She kept thinking she was thinking about Mr. We were two people with a craving. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. .
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