. . She jumped up at once, caught up a leather clutch containing notebooks, a fat textbook, and a chocolate-and-yellow-covered pamphlet, and leaped neatly from the carriage, only to discover that the train was slowing down and that she had to traverse the full length of the platform past it again as the result of her precipitation. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. ‘Come, I am concerned merely for your safety, you know. ” “Don’t worry yourself. "Not the sort of stories young ladies should read. You must live for me. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. She turned to face him and he kissed her. "You are my prisoner.
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