“Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly. The other was to go into business—into a photographer’s reception-room, for example, or a costumer’s or hat-shop. She was instinctively aware of him as she had been of Julian. Women, she had been taught, who exposed the flesh of their bodies under the eyes of man were in a special catagory of the damned. She was nearly too giddy still to answer him. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated.
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