She had come across the wicked South Seas which were still infested with cannibals; she had seen drunkenness and called men beachcombers; who was this moment as innocent as a babe, and in the next uttered some bitter wisdom it had taken a thousand years of philosophy to evolve. It was not in evidence here, not a sign of it. “I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. ‘And me?’ ‘Oh, you’re mad because you wish to blow off my head. I followed you home on the train. That was odd: when young people were joyous, they had to express it physically. Because I’m younger than you. My sinuses are so swollen up right now. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often.
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