\" She said, bashful. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. She chuckled. . 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. You don’t know the thoughts we have; the things we can do and say.
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