The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. “If it’s about that dance project,” he said, “it’s no good, Veronica. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. . A dissipated, loose-living man. ” For a moment she was grave. Ann Veronica was by this time quite shocked at her own thoughts, and yet they would go on with their freaks. . Nor Jacques. .
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