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‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. 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. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. ” “I wish,” said Ann Veronica, with sudden anger, “that you could know what it is to live in a pit!” She stood up as she spoke, and put down her cup beside Miss Garvice’s. “I—I didn’t love the man I was engaged to,” she said. It wasn’t clear to me that I had to explain.
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