She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. No one. When things are at the worst, they'll mend. " "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face.
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