On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. ’ Then she jammed her hat on her head all anyhow and ran from the room. She felt smaller and more adventurous even than she had expected to feel. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. “What else did Michelle say?” “She said that the guy was all broken up about it, that he had another woman on the side or something. But on Sunday he had been obliged to attend to certain matters for the nuns. The truth was impossible, indecent. He made this simple classification of a large and various sex to the exclusion of all intermediate kinds; he held that the two classes had to be kept apart even in thought and remote from one another. The will to live had returned.
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