No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. “Has she ever thought of buying a pair of foam earplugs?” Lucy asked. 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. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours.
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