RANSVESTIA

and the idea was an exciting one, not for the insurance of which she spoke, but for the things themselves.

"You seem to like the idea," she observed. "But remember, you've got to promise me."

"Oh, I promise," I said eagerly.

"Promise," she went on, "that you will never — and I mean never never steal again."

"I promise!"

"And you'll be careful with your father suspect you."

"I will."

give him no cause to

"Because your mother is very afraid he might really hurt you."

"I promise. I really do."

"Then what are we waiting for?" she asked, losing her serious tone. "Let's go."

It was lucky I was in a dress. Going meant plunging right into the heart of things. I had never been in a lingerie department before. It was simultaneously very frightening and very wonderful. Cases full of the sorts of things I had risked so much to steal. Acres, it seemed, of panties, slips, petticoats, nightgowns, brassieres, girdles, pinks, blues, yellows, lavenders, flowers, stripes, polka dots, ribbons, laces, frills. I never saw such a feast.

"Size 5," Aunt Helen told the clerk.

The clerk pulled a box from the shelf and began showing us the panties it held. At Aunt Helen's insistence, I chose a half a dozen pairs, somewhat plainer than I would have chosen in private, but still much frillier and more feminine than any of the ones I'd stolen. From the counter where they had the panties, we moved to slips and petti- coats, and then to girdles and brassieres. There I drew the line.

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