She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. The doctor paced the room half a dozen times. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner. And such skirts as Ann Veronica had had when she entered the valley of Saas were safely packed away in the hotel, and she wore a leather belt and loose knickerbockers and puttees—a costume that suited the fine, long lines of her limbs far better than any feminine walking-dress could do.
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