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037. Heels

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“Hmm.” Phryne twists her ankle this way and that, considering. The royal blue glace kid shines softly up at her, and the intricate cutouts on the sides of the shoes show a peek of her stockings. “What do you think, Jack?”

Jack blinks like he’s waking from sleep and looks down at Phryne and her feet.

“I think you’ll run better in a tennis shoe than a Louis heel,” he says. “Or a military heel at least. Would it kill you to get something sensible for once, Miss Fisher?”

“It might,” Phryne says. “Sensible is for schoolmarms and Aunt Prue.”