She took it for granted Ann Veronica wore stays—mild stays, perhaps, but stays, and thought no more of the matter. “My dear Annabel,” she said, “this is delightful, but I thought that it was forbidden. That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits had failed her. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. “It was the night you left Paris. If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. Sheppard. He swung it open and then used his body to pin her against her seat.
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