I'll not speak of Jack or Jonathan. But you couldn't. She began to think persistently of Capes, and it seemed to her now that for some weeks at least she must have been thinking persistently of him unawares. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch.
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