They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. "Has he escaped?" asked the thief-taker, faintly. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. Her normally shiny hair was 143 stringy and flat. ‘Here we go again. It was a dead calm.
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