\"Would you like some orange juice?\" Larry had already been working outside for an hour, Mike at his side, dragging grass clippings to the compost pile. She felt sticky and ashamed when he dropped her off a block away from the McCloskey house as she had requested. Besides, he was a Yale man. Impelled by a feeling, into which we shall not pause to inquire, the stranger started after them; but they were better mounted, and soon distanced him. Not entirely. “If only her sister is half as pretty, no wonder that she has set the Parisians talking. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. Watching her strip had been delicious for him, and a part of him enjoyed her self-consciousness acutely. She was dressed in one of those complicated dresses that are all lace and work and confused patternings of black and purple and cream about the body, and she was in many ways a younger feminine version of the same theme as himself. Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a search for particular passages. A medley of motives warred in her, and it was certainly not one of the least of these that she knew herself to be passionately in love with Capes; at moments she had a giddy intimation that he was beginning to feel keenly interested in her. It will be a little lonely sometimes,” she said, looking around at them, “and I shall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself —and I think for you. Twenty-one, twenty-two. MANNING,” she had begun.
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