"I shall breathe more freely dere. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. Thanksgiving Day morning, Shari woke Lucy a half an hour before the sounding of the alarm. One OUGHT to want to please her. The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb.
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