After a long fifteen seconds, she pulled her head back into the seat, looking at his face from the close angle, his nose huge and out of perspective, his eyes like round blue pearls. But at least it gave her more time. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. ” “What ball?” The question was rhetorical. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. “I feel justified then,” he said, “in annexing his chair. . The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. A shiver slid down inside her.
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