“Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. . What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. He can come round there. Since her husband has laid me under such a weight of obligation, I couldn't, in honour, continue— hem!" and he took another explanatory pinch. Either it was an unfortunate recovery of a trail, or he had followed her from Mayfair.
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