The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. Deny me, if you please. 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. She had never heard anything so unholy.
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