‘Oh, we was always in there, miss,’ admitted Joan, moving closer. Scissors with which to cut her hair, just in case. ” She looked down at the flowers, still in shock, and gently laid them over her arm like a Miss America candidate practicing a crowning ceremony at a pajama party. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand.
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