“I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. " "Well, for my part," observed Mrs. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. He wished he had the time to solve this riddle, for it was a riddle, and four-square besides. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above.
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