Her relationship with John had made her the object of desire for scores of teenage boys who had dared not previously think of her in such a way. “You’re getting too old to put things off, John. You are afraid of the warmth in your blood. ” She had had so much time to learn the violin that she often thought to herself that she ought to be much more skilled at it. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for.
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