The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. Her back had stiffened, and her hazel eyes looked steadfastly ahead. They shared one class, Advanced Geometry. There were mysterious sounds, all of them musical. ’ ‘I shall stop him,’ declared the old lady furiously. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. Don't strip me quite. . Master Thames Ditton, I'll do your biddin'; and you, Misther Quilt Arnold, may do your worst, I defy you. Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. His manner was deferential, even eager.
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