The root of the trouble was that she was one of those intellectual girls, steeped to the gills in serious purpose, who are unable to see a male soul without wanting to get behind it and shove.We had scarcely arranged the preliminaries before she was checking up on my reading, giving the bird to 'Blood on the Banisters', which happened to be what I was studying at the moment, and substituting it for a thing called 'Types of Ethical Theory'.

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