“Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. “Now you must go,” she said firmly. She could feel teenage girls from all corners of the room tensing, preparing to shriek. ‘Because you are a bête, and a pig, and imbecile.
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