She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. “Endless. She let him take off her skirt as she ritualistically removed his jeans along with his boxers. ” Her father interrupted. Saint Giles's Round-house XIII. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love.
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