[B]ut for winter I should like a thin dress shot with
red threads that would gleam in the firelight.
Then when the lamps were lit, I should put on my red dress and it would
be thin as a veil, and would wind about my body, and billow out as I came into
the room, pirouetting. It would make a
flower shape as I sank down, in the middle of the room, on a gilt chair. The Waves
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