She felt the need to get dressed, sensing that his parents would be home soon. Then, as he was trying to bite through the rope, I told him, ‘That’s for 107 Traci, motherfucker. 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. ’ The questions that had long haunted her came out at last.
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