That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. She had agonized over it for weeks. Smith. He’s really hot. She too at once developed an anxious interest in the street outside. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her. “The Widgetts,” she said. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home. “Like what, Lucy?” She saw the panic threaten to overtake him. Ah, no, I have it wrong.
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