She doesn't love you; she hasn't the least idea what it means beyond what she has read in novels. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. . . Only old librarians and Shirley Temples say that. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. ” “Then why,” Anna asked quietly, “do you run away? It is not like you. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. ‘You! Tell this fool who is the keeper here to come to me at once.
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