Her moods were many and always striking. She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. ” The cab rumbled off. She felt a semi-sharp object being gently impressed into her back. ’ ‘Oh, yes I do,’ Martha said, getting up off the bed. \" Lucy obliged her, walking back to the entryway and slipping off the loafers. Jiggle-joggle, jiggle-joggle…! For each pause she was grateful.
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