“My Mom was a good lady. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. ” The housemaid’s presence acted as a useful restraint. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. Of course, this does not apply to uninteresting old maids," Prudence modified with a dry little smile. “We sent for you several hours ago,” he remarked. It depresses one, you know.
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