![]() ![]() Wiping down the walls and baseboards? Angry. ![]() Reorganizing every shelf in the house? Frustrated. I could always tell what kind of mood Momma was in by the type of cleaning she was doing. The girl came in and spread the dress on the register counter. Violet remembered that the girl had come in just a few weeks earlier, trying on half a dozen gowns before selecting the full-skirted one she held now, which flapped in the wind like a surrender flag. A girl, no older than twenty, stood inches from the window, clutching a 1950s wedding dress against her fleece jacket. When she stood up, a pair of blue eyes stared back at her. Violet bent down to put espadrille sandals on the mannequin. People in practical moods didn't wander into the shop to buy turn-of-the-century kid gloves or 1930s Bakelite jewelry. ![]() Gray spring days like this one were all about hurrying and practicality, and Violet had never liked either concept. She sighed as undergraduates with bright scarves and red faces rushed by without glancing at her or the garments on display. Behind the boutique's windows, Violet Turner was buttoning a mannequin into a smocked sundress. ![]() Beneath the ash trees on Johnson Street, just east of campus, Hourglass Vintage stood in a weathered brick building, wedged between a fair trade coffee shop and a bike repair business. ![]()
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