He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. But you have, haven’t you?’ He tutted again. “Shut up, you little faggot. ” She thought of her father, and with an effort dismissed him from her mind.
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