” “That’s a question of detail,” said Ann Veronica. Miching Mallecho IX. CHAPTER I. 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. She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. It had neither succumbed to her nor wrathfully overwhelmed her.
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