The feather drifted high and low on the current of the breeze, seemingly in slow motion, before landing in her lap as she sipped lemonade, languidly reclining in a chaise lounge in golden splendor behind a dark pair of sunglasses and capturing all of the afternoon sun, as if feather and sun and time were hers, and hers alone.
Morally, it was indefensible, but the board was morally bankrupt; her confidence soared.
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