And she would have to go tomorrow. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. She pushed between the pews, hoping to reach the sword first, while desperately holding on to her petticoats to keep them up, as her sword arm wavered. They compromised at length on the science course at the Tredgold Women’s College—she had already matriculated into London University from school—she came of age, and she bickered with her aunt for latch-key privileges on the strength of that and her season ticket.
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