She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. Later, when they returned home, she would serve as the topic of many conversations. " "She is a matchless creature!" exclaimed the young man. ‘Yes, don’t interrupt me,’ said Captain Roding severely. You'd better lose no time. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. You must forgive the poet’s license I take.
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