The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged. Even Lucy’s bra and panties, the ubiquitous polyester underwire and matching cotton bikini briefs from Kmart, were gone. ‘I have Joan to tell me how much I look like Mary.
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