“Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. 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. “Um, he took me to the Big Apple. ‘You see, unlike you, mademoiselle, your cavalier here would not wish to be arrested. She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel. I have said your life is in danger, Thames. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend.
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