“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were. Both carried packages of books and magazines. Sheppard remained dissolved in tears. She cursed herself for a fool.
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