““Now I know how a ballerina must feel. Oh, quit fussing around! Sit down and talk to me,” she exclaimed. “No point in washing the inside when the outside’s spattered with winter grunge.” Dutifully, Faylene set aside her spray bottle of window cleaner and the wad of crumpled newspapers. “Next warm spell we have I’ll get ’em all done, inside and out. I got me one of them things you screw on to a hose. You ready for iced tea?” “In the fridge. Pour us both a glass, will you?” Sasha eased her feet u...p onto the sofa. For the few minutes the housekeeper was out of the room, she let herself sag against the cushions. “Bring those macaroons, too,” she called. Faylene had stopped by the bakery on her way to work. She was a whiz at cleaning, but her culinary skills were notorious, as everyone who’d ever employed her quickly discovered. With refreshments on hand, the two women got down to brass tacks. Faylene touched her Dolly Parton do to make sure the lacquered surface was still intact.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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