She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips.
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