Before the cotillion, you'll be moving the same weights."They had finished their work with their first machines. But rather than getting on the second, Andy went for a pen and paper while Kelly tried to catch her breath. When she came back, she asked Kelly to write several sentences that she slowly dictated. When the girl finished, Andy looked at the paper, shook her head sorrowfully and said, "This may be tougher than I thought. Kelly, your handwriting is atrocious! It's got to be much better in just a few weeks."At that she produced an old letter which was protected between sheets of acetate. "Read this," she ordered.Kelly handled it very carefully. As soon as she looked at it, she gasped. It was a letter written by a woman in Atlanta, Georgia, to her husband, an officer in the Confederate Army, during the Civil War. In it, she described the devastation in the city caused by Sherman's Army on its march to the sea. The letter was written in a hand so fine that the woman wrote across. As they walked in the mall they discussed how Jill would film Bridget without drawing too much attention. "If anyone asks I'll say that I'm making a movie for a graduate school class," Jill decided out loud. "I'll stay as far away from you as I can."The girls casually walked through the mall and in and out of various shops looking for the right male salesman. From the entranceway of Carlisle Furniture they noticed a salesman inside wearing a shirt and tie. Balding, a small potbelly and an order pad in his right hand made him the perfect target for a little exposure. The store was crammed full of furniture. The living room ensembles were on the right as they entered with bedroom sets behind them. On the left were dining rooms, the breakfronts blocking their vision of what lurked behind them. Bridget and Jill went separate ways upon entering. Bridget drifted towards the salesman whose nametag screamed, "Hi! I'm Bob!" May I help you, young lady?"As soon as Bridget turned to face Bob she.
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