"Why do you laugh?" he asked. 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. "That's for Mrs. E. “You should probably wash all of that stuff off of yourself. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. If they entered a shop, he paused by the doorway, as if waiting for the journey to be resumed.
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