“I’m missing a hairpin.”
"How can you tell?”
"Because I count my hairpins, and this set was a gift from my aunt Arabella when I made my come out two hundred and forty-seven years ago.”
"Might we discuss your attempted self-ruin instead of your fashion accessories?” She gave him a look. If he’d been eight years old, he would have produced the hairpin from his pocket, blushed, and stammered his remorse. He was past thirty and would keep that hairpin until the day he died.
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