Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. “They have all been trying to turn my head. 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. Wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep it. She had black hair, fine eyebrows, and a clear complexion; and the forces that had modelled her features had loved and lingered at their work and made them subtle and fine. By this time, he had apparently accomplished all he desired; for moving the bottle out of Jack's reach, he appropriated it entirely to his own use, leaving the devoted lad to the care of the females. “The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name. ” “You have no right at all,” she answered. She wormed her way past Sebastian, glanced at her mother’s blackened face, her obscenely naked body bulging with yellow and black buboes under the arms and in the groin that oozed stinking fluid. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached.
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