"You're such a . . . prude!"
Laurel Jenkins stopped dead. Margarethe Mayer, her down-timer roommate, who had just uttered that rather rude accusation, looked at her, smirking and pointing to Laurel's belly.
Laurel's gaze followed Marga's finger, and she could feel her face flushing. Of course, it didn't qualify as a catastrophe that her uniform had become wet, because she had donned it in . . .
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- The Grantville Gazette Staff