She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. But she must not laugh. "Hear me out," said Jonathan. She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them.
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