Lucy dug out an old light gray cotton miniskirt that had shrunk on Shari in the wash. That night she found a ship bound to sail for the heathen nation called America. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. Wood, in a taunting tone.
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