“Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. Stanley admired and detested him in almost equal measure. He raised her to a sitting position. He uttered her name and his excitement grew when he did not feel a bra. It would be protective; it would with age turn to silver unnoticeably. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect that one had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year.
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