"Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. She changed into a halter top and a pair of tight jeans herself, and let Lucy brush her long, glossy hair as they talked about mascara, schoolwork, and boys. And talking of every conceivable thing. By instinct. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others. Wood.
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