All Stella had learned from reading Lacey’s columns was that if you wore clothes to express who you really were inside, you were in fashion and all was forgiven. Stella liked to broadcast her inner vixen through her clothes. Lacey realized that the “dress-to-express” side of her message resonated with Stella’s rebellious little inner vixen, but the other side of the message, the “dress-to-respect” side, wasn’t what Stella wanted to hear.

They’re big-time flippant.” “At least organized sports help keep dangerous felons off the
streets during games.” “That’s true. Most of the dangerous felons are in the game.

Writing about fashion is just a drain on humanity in these times of dire emergency. Clothes should be functional and protect us against the elements. And against deadly solar radiation from the hole in the ozone layer created by Western civilization’s short-sighted reliance on fossil fuels. That’s all.”

Felicity politely offered a gingerbread man to Lacey. It looked delicious. Alas, Lacey had to be thin to enter France; it was a matter of French law. So she resisted.

A corsetiere knows all your secrets,” Magda had often said to Lacey with a wink. “The secrets you keep and the secrets you give away, all the secrets you hide beneath your clothes.