She studied her form in the full length mirror, assessed 69 her body as one would that of a prize calf, trying to see it through his eyes, through the eyes of desire. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. 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. " "That's better. But tell me," he added with much anxiety, "has nothing been heard of Thames since the night of my former escape?" "Nothing whatever," answered Winifred.
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