She heard him come in; the light burned on. She should leave sooner, but she just could not bear missing the event. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. Kneebone, who did not appear in the slightest degree disconcerted by his cool reception, each sank carelessly into a chair, and made himself at home in a moment. I wonder,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “whether you ever realize how young you are. A brief calm succeeded. “Nice sleeve,” she said, and came to his hand and kissed it. “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. The whole of that relationship persisted in remaining obscure. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws.
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