She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. He never finished his sentence. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. “I must confess,” he said, “the New Woman and the New Girl intrigue me profoundly. " "You flatter me," smiled Sir James. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself.
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