She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. ” “That sounds more promising,” Lady Lescelles declared. "Why, you don't think as how they're crimps, do you?" Ben inquired. The decision had been sound. Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. Kimble was clearly a plain-spoken fellow. (“No, no. You’re a piss-poor liar, John.
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