She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. ” The figure of her aunt, a little distant, a little propitiatory, behind the coffee things, filled her with a sense of almost catastrophic adventure. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. “Please come by. ” He put his head on one side, pulled down the corners of his mouth, and looked at her over his glasses.
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