So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. 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. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. ’ She smiled on the last words, adding, ‘Oh, I don’t blame you for trying.
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