She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. F. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. ’ He sat up. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. “You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to the backbone.
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