” He read it in winter in the evening after dinner, and Ann Veronica associated it with a tendency to monopolize the lamp, and to spread a very worn pair of dappled fawn-skin slippers across the fender. “You are a thousand times more beautiful,” he said, “than anything else could be. And you see, I don’t turn my back, and I am looking at you and thinking about you from top to toe. For Mr Jarvis was beside himself when the letter come from Mr Charvill and he knew he’d lost you as well as Miss Mary. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. She looked and felt like a fairy princess. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men. Her aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence.
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