“Mum, I said no!” Piglet tore her body from her mother’s hands. Margot gasped. Had Piglet shouted as she had freed herself? Had she screamed? She stumbled on the hem of her dress, organza catching between her toes. She fell; she heard ripping. Her mother stepped back. The cream carpet was soft beneath her fingers. “I’ll do the fast, Mum,” she said from her knees. Her mother wasn’t looking at her, her eyes fixed on the mannequins in the shop window: elbows sharp, cheekbones gaunt. Piglet could hear Margot from the sofa, still inhaling sharply, panting, sucking in air. Allegra Joy crouched
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