She felt pride sashay into her thoughts. 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 moved slightly, and she went on, with a slight catching of her breath: “It’s a bother and disturbance, but you see—” She had to go through with it now, because she could think of nothing but her preconceived words. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time. She pulled his shirt from its tucked belted state and snaked her hands around his waist. His age was not far from fifty. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink.
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