’ Gerald noted the mixture of respect and apprehension in the glance he received from the boy. Sheila’s boys hadn’t been much help when they were around the house, anyway, they were more partial to lolling around on couches and running around with their girls. Profoundly. "I know my life is valuable to you, or you would not spare it. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. ” She covered her face with her hands. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. .
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