She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. He seemed to her indistinguishably about her father’s age. Terror had laid a paralyzing hand upon her, fear kept her almost unconscious of the curious glances which she was continually attracting. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. Then he took me out to Monteaux, on a motor.
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