They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free, untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost either for herself or others. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit. Lucy tried not to make her cringe noticeable.
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