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144 I think he heard about the backpack and the spitballs finally. 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. That was one of the compensations for having consigned himself to this part of the world. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. Pearls too! I mean it. But he has since acquitted you of any share in it. Wood, in equal trepidation. So he resolved to try another tack. . The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. The bed-and table-linen were of the finest texture.
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