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. Her thoughts were busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey. As soon as he became convalescent, and all fears of his premature dissolution were at an end, Wild recommenced his rigorous treatment. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. The picture of her flashed across the doctor's vision magically. “My dear Vee!” Her voice became very low. ‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically. It took my breath away.
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