It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. But his astonishment would have been great indeed had he known that not even her father had ever caressed her, either with lips or with hands. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. For a space he rode the whirligig. A few more minutes, and she was safe.
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