Her back had stiffened, and her hazel eyes looked steadfastly ahead. Miss Moffatt, the history and moral instruction mistress, was particularly explicit upon this score, and they all agreed in indicating contempt and pity for girls whose minds ran on such matters, and who betrayed it in their conversation or dress or bearing. Yet her embarrassment was only a passing thing. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. The young man looked at her. “Not a bit. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year.
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