It was a fetching gown that stretched tightly in a cream colored swath over her breasts and expanded to a full skirt with a petticoat. I had special ways of getting out of the basement without them noticing, and often I could smuggle a child or two out for 160 the day and they were never the wiser. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. “It’s bound to be all right,” she said. For you know that I have made up my mind to dig a little way into life single-handed.
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