His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. “There is a secret. ” “You must admit,” he declared, “that to us—who had seen you—the thought of your trying anything else was amazing. I am a little afraid. Love!” He held her arm and abandoned it again at her quick defensive movement. Jack was so harrassed that he felt half inclined to stand at bay. “No one asks you to care for them. You know—I worship you. You want me to be clean.
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