“MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. She assumed with a kind of mesmeric force all the propositions that Ann Veronica wanted her to define. Greece was a different place.
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