‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘allow me a very tiny intimacy. I’d only have to do something about it, and that I can’t. Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts. I want to know more about her. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. Pews had been brought in and set in two rows before the huge table, covered in white cloth, that formed the altar at the far end. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. “No.
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