Socks and shoes were harder to find, and she ended up wearing men’s athletic tube socks and a pair of dust caked flip-flops that had sat forlornly in Locker 49 since 1978. “You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. Nothing shall induce me to act contrary to the dictates of my conscience. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. She had seen for herself right up in the bedroom window with her binoculars when Joanie was gone shopping one night, right with her own eyes.
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