She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. Stanley. It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. You cannot depart hence. ‘Silence,’ hissed a voice in French.
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