"I'm not sure I love it," a woman says I in the petulant monotone of the Total Shopper, her eyes two emerald-rimmed pinpoints inside a huge cloud of cherry fox. She is definitely post-mink. Her personality calls for skunk, or perhaps tree sloth (to match her elaborate false fingernails), but she settles on a coat with pelts worked in next year's pattern, a sort of scallop effect resembling a Queen Anne façade. In case she ever sets foot outdoors, she buys a coyote ski jacket. She seems sorry not to have spent more than...
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