She is in the hall now. Her courage and her presence of mind had alike deserted her. There was—a service. 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. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. "Why, how the devil did you happen to guess that?" cried the janizary.
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