Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet No. 26

Cover Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet No. 26
I’m crouching, sparks flying, the glow of super heat lighting up the space around me, wondering if a study nurse will stop by. Up to now, no nurse has donned a mask and sampled the fumes. Aida Blue’s having sudden freezing spells and threatening to call the Reverend Francine, Angel Communicator, which is against study rules and, well, frankly, worries me.
“Howard,” Aida says during a thaw, “I don’t so much mind the manganese in the air, but I might’ve caught a neurodegenerative disease.”
How am
... I supposed to feel about that? Aida’s ailing scares me. Though what she truly believes is that her stiff arms and legs are passing and that by guinea pigging we’re not only getting paid plenty, we’re also helping all welders all over. I hope she’s right. Because this study’s a lung-buster. Every day we enter the shed, put on our personal protective gear, our ppg (steel-toe boots, skullcaps, stout jeans, gauntlet gloves, goggles, hoods with the two-color lenses, earplugs) and doctor race cars: Barracudas, Mustangs, Firebirds, that variety, with monikers like Banshee, Belly Up, Burn in Hell.MoreLess

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