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The gauge in my auto showed it to be 104 degrees outside. Yet, this woman looked as refreshing as a sterling silver bowl of rainbow sherbet. How did she manage that? At first, I gave all credit to her fluttering, flowing, whimsically-striped dress.
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But look more closely. While my wrinkled brow was damp with perspiration, my few remaining hairs flattened to my scalp by heat and humidity, this woman was a picture of unseasonable perfection head to toe. A great dress can do many things for a woman, dear reader, but it is not a moveable air conditioner. Merritt, I can only surmise, must be innately cool.
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