She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg. A dissipated, loose-living man. She forced herself not to think of John.
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