They turned the corner that joined Michelle's street to her own. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly. No matter what the fire and force of his passion, it falters eventually, and forever after smoulders or goes out. Some had the dignity and the aloofness of a rock in the sea; and others were as the polished pebbles on the sands—one saw the difference of pebble from pebble only by close scrutiny. But, you see, I’m smirched. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. . And Mother trusted him.
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