\" She whirled around by instinct, frightening the boy who she had borrowed the pencil from. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. ’ ‘Ah, non?’ Her voice was neutral. She could not feel her own body. It would be too mortifying. She responded at once, rapping him on the knuckles with her fan.
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