Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. He munched his popcorn steadily, periodically offering it to her, but not his Coke, as that would be too bold, a saliva exchange. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him.
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