CHAPTER XII. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. “The Miss Pellissier who was at White’s with us. There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing. “Why can’t we propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!.
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