His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. 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. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. "I'm an ungrateful dog!" "You will be if you don't instantly kiss me the way you used to. He misstated her age and address; but you can’t get home on him for a thing like that.
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