
"I look like a little girl playing dress-up!" she murmured. "Except that little girls don't dress up to be streetwalkers!"
The clear-eyed, smooth-skinned face with its halo of naturally wavy honey-blonde hair was indeed more like that of a sixteen year old than a nineteen year old. An expression of virginal naivete lingered in her soft brown eyes and rather full lips even after a whole year of marriage, and it was quite true that her voluptuous, though svelte, figure was in striking contrast even without the apricot-hued lingerie. Sandi had been raised in a home where cosmetics, hair dye, and other sophisticated beauty aids were anathema, and since she still retained traces of guilt for breaking certain strict rules her Methodist preacher-father had enforced in his household, she'd never picked up these habits even after leaving home. Consequently, she'd retained a purity and innocence that few girls of her age could match.
In addition, she'd continued to brood over breaking the code of morality imposed in her childhood. Consequently, as she stood in front of the mirror clad only in the skimpy, prostitute-style garment, she seemed to hear her mother's voice echoing in the silence of her empty suburban bedroom.
Suddenly, she was transported back to her narrow bedroom in the whitewashed clapboard rectory, her two suitcases and all her clothes spread out upon her bed as she packed for her honeymoon.
