” She swept out of the room. On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses. Sheila was often a terror to her husband Mark, who seemed afraid of her. His light brown hair was almost crew cut short. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. You are—horrible. “Michelle, it’s me, Lucy. She was watching him intently.
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