It’s over a week before the snow clears enough that the nuns can take some of us down to Evettsville. Sister Mary Francis hasn’t changed her mind about the dance, but about a half-dozen of us need to go down for medical care. Lucky me, I get to go to the dentist to have my braces checked.
The dentist is an old guy named Dr. Maxwell, who spends almost an hour poking at my teeth and making interested-sounding grunts. “You’ve got a very pretty mouth, young lady.”
“I can’t see any cavities in here and your teeth seem nice and straight.”
“Tho I can get thethe off?”
“Not for a couple more months. We don’t want to remove them too soon. I know they seem lik...
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