Perhaps these few words were the first real conscious words he had uttered in days. They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. This was just what he needed. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. She heard their feet and muffled voices. He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. His chin was angular and his lips were 16 small, his mouth tiny and refined.
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