” “I suppose we are,” said Vee, rearranging the flowers in her hand. “Mere sensuality. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question. She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life. Her father was right: Ruth must never know.
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