A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. The truth was impossible, indecent. " "More blood! more blood!" cried Trenchard, passing his hand with agony across his brow. ” “But Hainault—was—a pal. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. And rather unscrupulous. The marriage cannot—shall not be delayed. "Good-b'ye!" And with a cordial shake of the hand he took his departure. 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.
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