Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. “And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. It surprised her she hadn’t thought of it before! She tried to explain that she was going to pay him forty pounds without fail next week.
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