He might be unfortunate, but he would scarcely be a fool. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise. That's the kind, my friend, that always fall soft. Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees.
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