After all, she only LOOKED a woman. I was to blame to carry the matter so far. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. “You, too,” he said abruptly. Why? What is she to you?” “I was there by accident,” Ennison answered. He has a way of sitting on people.
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