Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. “Before I heard much Wagnerian music I heard enthusiastic descriptions of it from a mistress I didn’t like at school. 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. But to England! What has happened, then?” Already the terror of a few hours ago seemed to have passed away from the girl who leaned back so lazily in her chair, watching the tip of her patent shoe swing backwards and forwards.
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