The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist. I'm speaking of virtuous women—of WIVES, Madam. Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them. You cannot draw. ” For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim. One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse.
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