The expression was wholly different. 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. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly. I have made up my mind to insist upon moving from here into Park Lane, or one of the Squares. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope.
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