The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. “I wonder,” she said, “how much you care. I wanted it badly. Martin’s eyes seemed about to pop out of his head. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms.
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