He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. Then suddenly, in front of all those windows, he folded her in his arms and pressed her to him, and kissed her unresisting face. 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.
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