"Stop thief!" roared Jonathan. He temporized, and the girl raised her eyes once more to his. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidity encompassed her. Looking for something, or someone, probably. “It isn’t only the dance,” she said. “You go home,” he said, at parting; “you go home.
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