238 < 30 > IN BED John drove her home after school nearly every day. White,” she remarked. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. “Have you ever kissed a guy before?” She rolled the tissue into a ball in her lap and stared at it. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously. A little relieved by this step toward reinstatement, she went on to the Imperial College to forget her muddle of problems for a time, if she could, in the presence of Capes. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued.
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