They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. " He did not pause to consider how she had learned that he had imagination; he comprehended only the direct challenge. He was staring at her, openly gaping. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. Then go and fetch this daughter of yourn.
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