“Why do you girls have to be so fractious all the time?” cried Mum, one morning at breakfast. “What’s frackshus?” Daisy wanted to know. “Bickering and backbiting and totally ungrateful!” It was true they had been rather quarrelsome of late. Jazz and Laurel had quarrelled on the subject of clothes. Jazz had accused Laurel of dolling herself up just to please men, while Laurel had accused Jazz of slobbing around like a refugee from Oxfam. No man, she said, would ever look twice at her. “Don’t want... them to!” had declared Jazz. Laurel had said in that case she would end up as a sour and embittered old maid; to which Jazz had retorted, “And a good thing, too! At least it’s better than being some empty-headed bimbo!” Rose had sided with Jazz on that occasion; but then she had started lecturing Laurel about “only going out with white boys. First it was that creep Simon, now it’s that creep from Year 12.” “Martin Balcombe! He’s not a creep.” “He’s white,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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