“I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. It was all highly intriguing. He stuck to the shop as long as it was necessary, and longer, in my opinion. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. There was a wall; she was always encountering it; the one time she was able to break through this wall was when the part in his hair was crooked.
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