All that was needed to complete the simile was that the girl should burst into song. “Damn!” said Ann Veronica to herself, rousing herself for a conflict. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. One transgression; he was sure of that. He meditated, and began a new paragraph. She was not Madame Melusine Valade.
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