She finished the olive and looked up. They were properly brought up, and sat still and straight, and took the luck fate brought them as gentlewomen should. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. Martin said “Hi” to her in the halls every day now, a sure sign of trouble.
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