She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. She had already realized that this instructress was hopelessly wrong and foggy—it is the test of the good comparative anatomist—upon the skull. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. Here, indeed, was a type with which he had never until now come into contact—a natural woman.
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