Saren Chen was a tall woman, thin and beautiful in a masculine way, Germanic. Frequently he would take up a box of talc and send a shower down his back, or fill his palms with the powder and rub his face and arms and hands. “You!” said Ann Veronica. Miss Charvill. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing.
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