Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. Sheila’s boys hadn’t been much help when they were around the house, anyway, they were more partial to lolling around on couches and running around with their girls. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. “You are in luck, Miss Pellissier,” he declared. I have taken bullets and lived, and even a silver one wouldn’t do much. Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone.
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