On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection. She had asked to borrow his pencil out of dire necessity. I spent this afternoon in detention. Mrs. 1. Wood.
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