Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all opposition. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. Care for a hundred up?” Ennison shook his head. 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. “I will not have this slavery. ‘Still more would I be so if he had come himself to tell me this.
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