‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. My sister was scarcely likely to make a mistake. “Now you look happy. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. “Something.
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