She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. Melusine, used to the stark surroundings of the convent at Blaye, had no complaint to make. 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. “Hello!” said Ann Veronica, with arms akimbo and a careless, breathless manner.
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