Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. Dear me, what a difference it has made! No one would ever think that we were sisters. Before you go I'll give you a list of books to read. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. "We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices. Ann Veronica loved beautiful things, and the beauty of undraped loveliness not least among them; but these were pictures that did but insist coarsely upon the roundness of women’s bodies. “Here goes,” he said.
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