” “Well?” “I went from Anna’s flat to Nigel Ennison’s rooms. “I had a dream in the night,” she said. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Her hair was held back in a filigreed barrette. It's a mighty quare 'un, though. No mother would have sent her daughter into the world with such a wardrobe.
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