But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly. Her teachers and mistresses had done their best to stamp her mind with an ineradicable persuasion that it was tremendously important, and on no account to be thought about. ‘She’s little more than a schoolgirl, just out. My letters are returned unopened, her maid will not even allow me across the doorstep. Very romantic and all that. Too late. " Silence. .
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