" "Irons—heavy irons—night and day. ” She said. Each arm of the blouse had the faintest of rings around the elbow, a stain that looked familiar. ” “I realize I can’t see my mom or brother again. She reloaded. " The Wastrel laughed. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. She pulled his shirt from its tucked belted state and snaked her hands around his waist. .
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