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. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. But Blueskin found it impossible to make off,—at least with the spoil,—Mrs. Everything was blurred. “Hey you,” he said affectionately. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. From thoughts of fame to thoughts of mere bread and butter! It seemed to Spurlock that he had tumbled off the edge of Somewhere into the abyss of Nowhere.
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