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. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely. This was in Tennessee. Stow it in the saddle, for I will take it with me.
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