She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. In rushed Mr. “I want some advice,” said Ann Veronica. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. For what she lacked in appearance, Sheila compensated in gossip.
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