It mattered not whether she flunked the year as she would soon be gone. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings. Something as yet unformulated within her kept her estranged from all these practical aspects of her beliefs. “Why not?” He asked. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. Gin Lane's the nearest road to the churchyard. I didn't think.
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