“Come on in, Michelle. As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. Awkwardly, he closed his eyes and fumbled for a kiss. He would come swiftly to her aid, she knew it. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. Plain, wide-mouthed, freckled, and ugly, she was an instantly jealous creature, her saving grace that she took no pains to mask her extreme dislike 47 of petite, pretty girls. ” She tried to plan her proceedings in detail. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair.
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