They evenchanged our names. I used to be Lance Wilcox. Now I was Lisa. JustLisa.The work was idiotic. Wearing smocks over our dresses and petticoats,w... spent six hours a day silently hand-stitching strips of ruffledlace onto the seats of white satin panties. Three strips per panty.Sewing machines would have been vastly faster, but being forced to sewby hand was more humiliating. Each panty we finished was a dollar offour debt to the store. Every mistake we made added a fine to our debt.We spent. Her Uncle James Devereaux met her at the door when the middle-aged driver who had met her at the airport dropped her on the wide veranda of the mansion."It's so good to see you, Uncle Jim," she cried, throwing her arms around his strong neck and feeling the rasp of his afternoon shadow of beard on her tender cheek. His was a comforting avuncular embrace, the feel of his body, in spite of his wealth hardened by his activities on his ranch, pressing his strong, paunchy belly against her own lean. More

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