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. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. Her teeth were chattering so hard that she had to clench them for fear of biting off her own tongue. She hunted the markets for bread and treats so they could feast during the day. ‘Oh, peste. I love you more.
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