Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. “I do not know you,” she said coldly. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. CHAPTER XXVI. He's a nice boy, a good student. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. Sheppard, who made no resistance, along with him, entered the house, the door of which was instantly shut and barricaded. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn.
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