"Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. She was a clever girl, the best of her year in the High School, and she made a valiant fight for Somerville or Newnham but her father had met and argued with a Somerville girl at a friend’s dinner-table and he thought that sort of thing unsexed a woman. ‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you. It’s artificially chance. "What is this?" she wanted to know. “I’d give anything to kiss your neck. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence.
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