If they entered a shop, he paused by the doorway, as if waiting for the journey to be resumed. She was never violent when angry: she became as calm and baffling as the sea in doldrums. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. It was hard to part with romance, but she had never thirsted so keenly to go on with her University work in her life as she did that day. “Is Miss Stanley coming up with us?” “I go second,” she said, “and change at Wimbledon. You've caught the colour and the life. Then he paused. I was in hopes you'd be content with my hat and wig.
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