So she said: “I won’t come home. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozen pairs of silk stockings. ” She lifted steadfast eyes to him.
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