” One Friday, as she was sitting in the fifth row two seats left of center in Sixth Period Study Hall, a dull hard object thudded against the back of her head. ‘Don’t try to turn it off,’ ordered Miss Froxfield. ‘This is altogether insupportable!’ She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol. Manning told her he loved beauty, and extorted a similar admission from her; he then expatiated upon his own love of beauty.
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