'Tis A Season
Remember how the garden looked at her best. Now she’s in a fitting. Inflexible fabric, hair twisted up, tired of people hovering around with straight pins between pursed lips trying to get the alterations just right. Trying not to roll her eyes but the lips frown, head slumps. Can you—I can’t—, says the dressmaker, lifting her up by the chin. A droopy h…
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