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The Second Mrs Adams
“You don’t really weave baskets, do you?”
She sighed. “No, not really.”
“Good.” A grin twitched across his mouth. “For a minute there, I thought Nurse Diesel might be breathing down our necks.”
Joanna’s mouth curved. “Don’t even mention that movie when you’re here,” she said in an exaggerated whisper. “They’ve got no sense of humor when it comes to things like that.”
He laughed. “You said something?”
“Sure. The first day, an aide came to call for me. She said she was taking me to physical therapy and we got into this old, creaky elevator and headed for the basement. ‘So,’ I said, when the doors finally wheezed open, ‘is this where you guys keep the chains and cattle prods?’” Joanna’s eyes lit with laughter. “I thought she was going to go bonkers. I got a five minute lecture on the strides that have been made in mental health, blah, blah, blah...”
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