“Mr. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. Some man! And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving her a last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken at her to emphasize his point. All human food tasted equally dead and loathsome to her, whether it was prime steak or cheap hamburger. He hated to destroy it; but that was the obligation imposed; and he was an honourable man. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. The latch came with a weak click.
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