“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly.
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