Lucy looked at her with a small measure of pity. “We’ll go together. I'll proclaim his misdoings to the world; and, then, we shall see where he'll stand. 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. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. It grew clear to her that throughout all her wild raid for independence she had done nothing for anybody, and many people had done things for her. ‘But I have been perfectly honest about that.
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