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. ‘Oh, are there? You are not quite alone in these adventures of yours, I take it. ‘Deaf? Deaf? I’ll have you know, miss—’ ‘Do not have me know anything,’ interrupted Melusine crossly, and digging into her habit, produced the fateful dagger that had cut Gerald’s hand.
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