No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. He grabbed her legs and threw the covers from the bed. "I am expected, I find," observed Jack, glancing at the well-covered board. In all this world there was no sacred ground that said to her: Return! She was of all human beings the most lonely. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it.
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