"Zounds!" cried Kneebone, furiously. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. Until the age of five she adored him. ’ Then he bowed, raising his hat in salute and, crossing to the coach, spoke briefly to its driver and leapt into it without looking back. Happen what might, he could not be in a worse position. He shook his head all the time. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. How came you by the hurt, eh?" "How did I come by it?—that's a nate question.
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