’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her. I want to give myself to you. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. “Yes, I have heard of him, and I know him by sight,” he admitted. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece.
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