"Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. She had very frizzy hair indeed, very black eyebrows, a profusion of metallic adornments about her neck and waist, and an engaging smile. She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially.
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