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. I've seen him often do it. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. It was a haunted place. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. I’ll buzz him for you. His eyes were set too close together. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating. He would read the jokes and illustrate them; and after a time I could see the point of a joke without having it explained to me.
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