All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. “It was not necessary,” Sir John answered stiffly. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. Without you, we might have had some trouble. She was always the last person to exit after the crowds had stampeded, trailing slowly behind them like dust.
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