"Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. On your own. ” She shook her head. She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry. At least the sun would not be as bright, which was a welcome reprieve from the mercilessly bright early summer days which had invigorated every man, woman, and child in the suburbs but were wearing Lucy down into acute fatigue, along with her hunger.
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