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6:55 in the morning. It was silk dupioni, a bateau neckline, three-quarter sleeves, hand-beaded lace at the bodice, a faint cream from decades of careful storage.
The bust needed a half inch. The waist needed a quarter inch. They worked in silence for three and a half hours. At 10:15, Clara stepped back and said: “That’s your dress.”
My grandmother reached continue reading …
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