Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. Or else—Else it will be impossible that I can be his friend. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. She was going through with that, anyhow. I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball.
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