When that didn’t work, Miss Ambrose had joined a gym. She had run away from herself on a treadmill and sweated out the very essence of herself on a cross trainer, and then she had walked through department store beauty halls, past the rows of painted faces, trying to pick which one she might like to become. At one counter, she had been persuaded into an expensive lipstick, in the hope that it might transform her into someone else, but when she put it on, she discovered that she was still only Miss Ambrose, but wearing an expensive lipstick and thirty pounds out of pocket. She had even decided
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