“You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. 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. “We’ll go together. E. ” He made a little noise in his throat as if something had cried out within him, and for a time they were both too full for speech. Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. “No. Mere formality. I want you to turn me. ” Jane was taken aback by Lucy’s weird candor.
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