It was obvious that he had waited for her. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. “I am lonely. “I only use the weeniest little dab of rouge,” she declared, “and it is really necessary, because I want to get rid of the ‘pallor effect. That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again.
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