I seek chaos, but not out of choice. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. She had had two days of employment-seeking now. Not at all. Something in her tone made him look up. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. 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. I have seen many of them. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. ‘This we will leave.
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