The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. Yesterday!—who cared? To-morrow!—who knew? "Porpoise," she said, touching his hand. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had.
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