She tried not to notice how much attention Martin Chen had been paying her, but he had been bold enough to speak to her the other day. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. 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. "Where did you learn the song I heard just now?" he demanded, in an authoritative tone. By now the horses would be rested and he might go as swiftly back again.
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