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Betty, Get Your Gun

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Peggy couldn't fathom how anyone possibly enjoyed this rubbish show. Perhaps she was more sensitive to its awfulness simply because of personal connection, but it was inconceivable for what reason these women waited on the edges of their seats for each chapter in this series of awful chapters.

"Oh, Cap! You saved me!" Betty Carver cries melodramatically, and Peggy winces as much of the parlour's occupancy sighs. Angie, ever understanding, reassuringly grabs her hand.

"Even if just once, they should let her save herself," Peggy mutters softly. A couple girls absentmindedly shush her, but none turn back, so she takes the liberty of rolling her eyes. Angie leans towards her and whispers, her breath tickling Peggy's ear.

"Get 'er a shield of her own and call her Mrs America, hmm? Sounds like a swell character, dunnit?" she giggles.

"That'd be quite the claim to fame for you," Peggy whispers back.