” Annabel shook her head. 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 had to exert tremendous energy not to sniff the air for his blood. Enschede—that's a queer name. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder. She never forced the issue, it was their father’s job. Your boyfriend.
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