It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft. 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.
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