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. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine.
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