Lucy replied, \"My hair has a mind of its own. Sheppard, eagerly. His eyes never left her face. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. "If you don't stop its squalling, I will.
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