She thought me— filthy. “It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. Grandmothers and grandfathers and uncles and aunts … to love and to coddle lonely little girls. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. She was not obliged to go to the Tredgold College, because as yet the College had not settled down for the session. “We have,” he said, “to be the utmost friends. He began to tell me something—and stopped. ‘I trust you were not altogether disgusted when I kissed you. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. ‘I must. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend.
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