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. And, now, to find a messenger. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. Unless it was a jewel or locket of some kind. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. " "Oh! goodness!" ejaculated the tapstress, in alarm. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. But what are you doing here?” “Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go. “Everybody is taking it up,” said Miss Miniver.
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