“I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. His glance came up again and met hers. She galloped up the small stairs, hearing that Shari had finally risen. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. I firmly believe that she is as straight as a die.
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