He pressed the long shapely hand warmly in his. She had not anticipated such a response from her classmates, but knew to be drawing them with her self-consciousness as if they were bees to pollen. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. Schoolgirl. “My word holds,” she said.
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