” “It takes a great deal of bad weather to depress the true Parisian,” Anna admitted. "I must tell you," she was saying. She started forward. 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 same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. "This is our last transaction together. ” “I know. Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand.
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