” “Call it what you like,” Anna answered. No more. “It’s not for us to supplicate any more. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone.
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