This child at once alarmed and thrilled them. She hadn't measured up; she had been stupid; she hadn't known how to make love. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. Still, they bob up occasionally. linked image back linked image back MADEMOISELLE AT ARMS Elizabeth Bailey © 2011 by Elizabeth Bailey All rights reserved. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. “I don’t suppose you’ll be able to do it much,” said Ann Veronica.
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