She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. The ladder was now within reach. But Miss Miniver was highly unsatisfactory. And then! a garment that was conceivably a secondary skirt.
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