Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow. She had very few clear memories before a particular day in the library, when they had finished one of her first reading lessons. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. He sprung out of the driver’s side and ran to her door. 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.
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