He worried me to marry him. Your fingers are even now as stiff as a schoolgirl’s. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. “Miss Pellissier, isn’t it?” he said.
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