"Enough!" cried Jonathan, eagerly pocketing the memorandum. The fireplace was at the other end, with the sheeted shapes of two sofas either side. She was a clever girl, the best of her year in the High School, and she made a valiant fight for Somerville or Newnham but her father had met and argued with a Somerville girl at a friend’s dinner-table and he thought that sort of thing unsexed a woman. She mentally reprimanded herself to alter her own visage so as not to appear depraved. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. For a time Spurlock did not move. Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. “Because I hate you!” She spat. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. He had “put his foot down,” and said she must not go.
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