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March 8, 2006
"A suit of armor—well, that will not do," thought Marsha Quinn, and immediately took off the armor and replaced it with a shimmering blue dress made from hemp stains. She threw back her bedroom door and stepped cautiously into the hallway outside, and leaned over a balustrade to view the room below her, which was covered in suet from a ball earlier that evening. Slowly, she descended the marble staircase and approached the front door. At last, placing a wooden hand upon its thick planking—or, rather, a thick hand upon its wooden planking—she pulled it gently to her breast.