They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. "Your voice seems familiar to me—and—but I'm getting a little deaf—and my eyes don't serve me quite so well as they used to do, especially by this light. We had better have it over. At that a new element poured into her excitement, an element of wild disgust and terror. She could not run, her limbs were frozen.
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