This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. " "Nor Jonathan Wild, I hope," interposed Sheppard. It frightened her to behold her heart and mind thus laid bare; but the chapter following would reassure her. "Put it under my pillow," he said. But she did not in the least want to do that. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll.
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