Sheila was a stout woman, her bosoms huge, her face 110 wide and square. ’ Triumph soared in Gerald’s chest. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. He arrived at 6:29 sharp on the night of the Junior Prom. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world.
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