She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. There’s stories, too, about his demonstrator, Capes Something or other. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear. “Is Miss Stanley coming up with us?” “I go second,” she said, “and change at Wimbledon.
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