They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. She realized that he was the sort of man one does not think much about at dinners. “My God!” he said again. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. "I'm not going to get rid of you just yet. She responded at once, rapping him on the knuckles with her fan.
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