‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. She would then partially recall the items that she had heard about him, presenting each at the angle that was the most likely to inflict pain. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. I have nothing, nothing that can possibly be passion for you.
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