“. . . sample sale . . .” “. . . Alexander McQueen, pale blue, 80 percent off . . .” “. . . sample sale . . .” “. . . sample sale . . .” I cannot bear this any longer. “Excuse me,” I say, turning round. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop on your conversation—but I just have to know one thing. What is a sample sale?” The whole gift wrap area goes quiet. Everyone is staring at me, even the lady with the silver pen. “You don't know what a sample sale is?” says a girl in a leather jacket eventually, as though I've said I don't know my alphabet. “Erm . . . no,” I say, feeling myself flush red. “No, I . .
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