“More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. “Please, Michelle, let’s not fight. ‘Prudence? This name I have heard it spoken. I shall like to think of it—whenever I feel dull. "There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do. I have yet another. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards.
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