“I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. That wrappered life, as you call it—we’ve burned the confounded rags! Danced out of it! We’re stark!” “Stark!” echoed Ann Veronica. The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the better to see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. He slid out of her.
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