“You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. "Yes; but what is good isn't always proper. He got up. 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. I should never have noticed the miniature at all, if it hadn't been for him.
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