She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. ‘Think I’m fool enough to do my business in a convent?’ he said scornfully. And Pottiswick, of course.
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