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When a faint violin sounded she winced and bit her lip again. The waitress appeared. I hardly dared to ask her.

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China tea - or iced tea with lemon? Really she didn't mind.

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It was all the same to her. She didn't really want anything.

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Hennie whispered, "Chocolate! But just as the waitress turned away she cried out carelessly, "Oh, you may as well bring me a chocolate, too. While we waited she took out a little, gold powder-box with a mirror in the lid, shook the poor little puff as though she loathed it, and dabbed her lovely nose.

The waitress came back with the chocolate and the tea. She put the big, frothing cups before them and pushed across my clear glass. Hennie buried his nose, emerged, with, for one dreadful moment, a little trembling blob of cream on the tip. But he hastily wiped it off like a little gentleman. I wondered if I should dare draw her attention to her cup. She didn't notice it - didn't see it - until suddenly, quite by chance, she took a sip.

I watd anxiously; she faintly shuddered. A tiny boy with a head like a raisin and a chocolate body came round with a tray of pastries - row upon row of little freaks, little inspirations, little melting dreams.

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He offered them to her. Take them away. He offered them to Hennie. Hennie gave me a swift look - it must have been satisfactory - for he took a chocolate cream, a coffee eclair, a meringue stuffed with stnut and a tiny horn filled with fresh strawberries.

She could hardly bear to watch him. But just as the boy swerved away she held up her plate. The silver tongs dropped one, two, three - and a rry tartlet.

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I felt much more comfortable. I sipped my tea, leaned back, and even asked if I might smoke.

Full online text of The Young Girl by Katherine Mansfield. Other short stories by Katherine Mansfield also available along with many others by classic and contemporary authors. short stories interactive word games. Katherine Mansfield. The Young Girl. In her blue dress, with her eks lightly flushed, her blue, blue eyes, and her gold curls pinned up as though for the first time - pinned up Erotic Sex Stories From Real Women. My Friends and I Swap Nudes as a Form of Self-Care. Inside the Wild World of "Pony Play" Sex. My Prosthetic Arm Makes Me Feel Sexy. Confessions of a One-Time The story, like other stories about ating, must > begin at the beginning of the marriage itself. I was 15 when > I met my husband, who was We met because he asked his > sister to invite a friend over to give him some booty. > Turned out to be me. I swore u. Read More. Want to at. Wednesday, July 26, AM by Aphrodite. I love my husband but +| 8K. Last night I

At that she paused, the fork in her hand, opened her eyes, and really did smile. But at that moment a tragedy happened to Hennie. He speared his pastry horn too hard, and it flew in two, and one half spilled on the table. Ghastly affair! He turned crimson.

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Even his ears flared, and one ashamed hand crept across the table to take what was left of the body away. Good heavens!

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I had to fly to the rescue. I cried hastily, "Will you be abroad long? But she had already forgotten Hennie. I was forgotten, too. She was trying to remember something She was miles away.

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When I didn't go on she came back and looked at me, very puzzled. But that took a whole cake to consider. Even then, "Oh well, that depends!

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I seized the butterfly list off the table. What about tangerine and ginger? No, something cooler. What about a fresh pineapple cream? Hennie strongly approved. The waitress had her eye on us.

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The order was taken when she looked up from her crumbs. I like ginger. You can bring me one.

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We were dancing to that all last Christmas. It's too sickening! Hennie said: "Ripping! This place? For the first time she stared about her, trying to see what there was She blinked; her lovely eyes wondered. A very good-looking elderly man stared back at her through a monocle on a black ribbon. But him she simply couldn't see.

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There was a hole in the air where he was. She looked through and through him. Finally the little flat spoons lay still on the glass plates. Hennie looked rather exhausted, but she pulled on her white gloves again. She had some trouble with her diamond wrist-watch; it got in her way. She tugged at it - tried to break the stupid little thing - it wouldn't break. Finally, she had to drag her glove over. I saw, after that, she couldn't stand this place a moment longer, and, indeed, she jumped up and turned away while I went through the vulgar act of paying for the tea.

And then we were outside again. It had grown dusky.

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The sky was sprinkled with small stars; the big lamps glowed. While we waited for the car to come up she stood on the step, just as before, twiddling her foot, looking down. Hennie bounded forward to open the door and she got in and sank back with - oh - such a sigh!

Hennie grinned at his friend the chauffeur. Then he composed himself and sat on the small seat facing us. The gold powder-box came out again.

Again the poor little puff was shaken; again there was that swift, deadly-secret glance between her and the mirror.

We tore through the black-and-gold town like a pair of scissors tearing through brocade. Hennie had great difficulty not to look as though he were hanging on to something. And when we read the Casino, of course Mrs.

Raddick wasn't there.

There wasn't a sign of her on the steps - not a sign. But no - she wouldn't do that. Good heavens, no!

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Hennie could stay. She couldn't bear sitting in a car.

She'd wait on the steps. At that she threw back her coat; she turned and faced me; her lips parted. I - I don't mind it a bit.

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I - I like waiting. I love waiting! Really - really I do!

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