1. ’ His friend held it out of the way. He found himself growing hoarse yelling over the music, but it also situated him to lean towards her to put his hand on her ear to aid her hearing. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. “I feel justified then,” he said, “in annexing his chair.
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