She was too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. 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. We two. Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later. . The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. Better get a dress.
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