Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. But once I started, Forever Fifteen seemed to fly out of me like a bat out of Hell, virtually writing itself. She seemed just as stiff and shy as a girl ought to be, Lady Palsworthy thought, neither garrulous nor unready, and free from nearly all the heavy aggressiveness, the overgrown, overblown quality, the egotism and want of consideration of the typical modern girl. On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. “Well!” she declared good-humouredly.
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