“I thank you for your advice,” she said. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. When I went I was refused admittance. There was a strained, eager expression on his face. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother.
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