When he returned, it was always the same. It drives him to my island, where I can study him to my heart's content. 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. The person caught hold of his arm, and, in spite of his efforts to disengage himself, detained him.
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