Customs: The Nymphettes

It was a sunny Saturday morning, and the big parade was about to begin. From the horns came tentative tootles as bandsmen warmed up, and here and there snapped the punctuating rap of snares. Off to one side, a little lipstuckup ten-year-old girl in a resplendent black uniform spun a shiny stick. Her perspiring mother hovered near by, brandishing a hairbrush. The little girl pursed her lips and swung her baton with the same concentration and faultless precision that another might devote to a game of jacks. The baton shot up and around as the girl flipped it into a...

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