And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. It was shameful, but again, her mother had prepared her for it. Sir John, who was standing outside, looked past him at the girl still sitting in the shadow. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art. Pull yourself together now. That’s really what I want to discuss.
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