Neither my body nor my hair had in all my life been washed with more than cold water. It is hard now to recall how luxurious felt clean clothes upon m... poor body. Over the following days and weeks, during which I was given menial tasks and responsibilities, my condition improved and when I saw myself in one of the fine mirrors of her household I saw a new woman. I never left her employ after that. Mistress Pickles’ house was, I was to discover, a salon for ladies who, like me and Mrs Pickles. Marcella laid it all out, pulled out her charms with a thick layer of flirt. She greeted the author, ‘Ciao, Signore Hardway.’ Her accent typically won her huge points with most every man. His brows lifted, heard the obvious flirt, then greeted in response, ‘Hello.’ Marcella reached her copy of January to the author and sang, ‘Per fevore, would sign this for me?’ He sang back, ‘Of course.’ He took the book, set it on the table but his eyes took a moment to look at the most perfect of all his. More

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