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Like a trollop in heat. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. "You have," rejoined Jonathan, laying a forcible grasp on his shoulder. He would have risen again, but for the significance of the action. "Mr. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. He seemed to have shrunken in his seat. “I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better.
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