"Girl, get dressed." But, she was almost already there. "I don't have a brush, but, I have a comb." I reached for my wallet, extracted my license and military ID card. "Cully, oh, goodness. How fast were we going?" She'd included herself at "we." I hated to tell her for a myriad of reasons. "At least 110." "Cully." A sense of calm emanated from her voice. She clutched my hand.
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