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still caked on the hem and with the raggedness, which Phil-
ip had noticed the first time he saw her, still unmended.
But one day she came up to him, and with a scarlet face
asked whether she might speak to him afterwards.
‘Of course, as much as you like,’ smiled Philip. ‘I’ll wait
behind at twelve.’
He went to her when the day’s work was over.
‘Will you walk a little bit with me?’ she said, looking away
from him with embarrassment.
‘Certainly.’
They walked for two or three minutes in silence.
‘D’you remember what you said to me the other day?’ she
asked then on a sudden.
‘Oh, I say, don’t let’s quarrel,’ said Philip. ‘It really isn’t
worth while.’
She gave a quick, painful inspiration.
‘I don’t want to quarrel with you. You’re the only friend
I had in Paris. I thought you rather liked me. I felt there
was something between us. I was drawn towards you—you
know what I mean, your club-foot.’
Philip reddened and instinctively tried to walk without
a limp. He did not like anyone to mention the deformity.
He knew what Fanny Price meant. She was ugly and un-
couth, and because he was deformed there was between
them a certain sympathy. He was very angry with her, but
he forced himself not to speak.
‘You said you only asked my advice to please me. Don’t
you think my work’s any good?’
‘I’ve only seen your drawing at Amitrano’s. It’s awfully