She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. Love is one thing and friendship quite another. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. .
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