‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. On the way home he was still thoughtful. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done.
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