A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. Any one very badly moved choked down a few mouthfuls; the symptom of supreme distress was not to be able to touch a bit.
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