“Do I understand you then to refuse my offer?” he asked Anna. He stood up abruptly and went to the window. 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. She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family.
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