But, go and see who it is, love. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. The party resolved itself for Ann Veronica into a game in which she manoeuvred unostentatiously and finally unsuccessfully to avoid talking alone with this gentleman. I have worn it for weeks and weeks.
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