She pulled, he rose to his feet. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. "You've got him?" demanded Ireton. "Quilt Arnold called this morning to say so. Yet I shall think of you to-day. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. He initiated sex with her, lightly fingering her clitoris as an invitation. After the dance, they went to a party. "Not the sort of stories young ladies should read. There was a short, red-faced, resolute youth who inherited an authoritative attitude upon bacteriology from his father; a Japanese student of unassuming manners who drew beautifully and had an imperfect knowledge of English; and a dark, unwashed Scotchman with complicated spectacles, who would come every morning as a sort of volunteer supplementary demonstrator, look very closely at her work and her, tell her that her dissections were “fairish,” or “very fairish indeed,” or “high above the normal female standard,” hover as if for some outbreak of passionate gratitude and with admiring retrospects that made the facetted spectacles gleam like diamonds, return to his own place.
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