One time, and even three more, I had stated , with the false sincerity that is my wont, that I had been given to understand our last hope was to refill the third painter's cabinet with a sparkling array of juniper cups of the old type, the type that one should have gotten used to back when winter days started out small and the light delayed a touch by as much as one or more seconds, even though the stove is second-hand and the failed progress alarm had been given up for dead months before the arrival of Johnny Edgecomb, my only sliver of self-respect being the title to a shack in Needles, CA.
The harbingers of delay could be felt as an intrusion into the life of one Betty Carmichael. She's grown more despondent by the hour until now, at age thirty seven, the grip of sodden feelings was all she could do to be rid of.
My own poly-unsaccaride count is approaching zero, but we, the Missus and me, are 'feeling no pain' with a lemon-teal covering, a fright wig, not a shout to encase the Bolton Muffin Shield purchased last winter, all but falling apart now,.. and I'll tell you what, the name which keeps coming up for us is 'Juanita Clermont'. Does that mean anything to you or your kids?
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