"How?" cried her brother, starting. 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 came to me in a dream. Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will get this under if I am killed in doing it!” She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. She was the type that people of every age gravitated to, naturally affable and kind to everyone.
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