“Want one?” Michelle deadpanned. “Have you ever kissed a guy before?” She rolled the tissue into a ball in her lap and stared at it. So she went to Ramage and came to the point almost at once. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. Gianfrancesco became agitated. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers.
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