She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. 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 turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. I’ve been waiting all my life to get out of this town. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish.
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