[But yeah, the department store reeked money and she thought about Eddie saying she needed polish to play the game, and about whether rich clothes could make you look like you had it, without even needing the lessons. She reached out and she fingered the edge of the nearest sweater, soft as kitten fur, and she looked back at Clementine, thoughtful. Bruce had put her up and she looked in the direction of the baby content on the jacket spilled on the floor, and her eyebrows rose in a very deliberate question.]
I'm getting out of that line of business. [Because she was, even if she hadn't decided what she was getting into and she liked neon and tacky way too much to know which of the muted colors on the rail was meant to be fashionable. There was a lot of neutral, of soft whites and grays that looked like thunderclouds over Gotham and pale, pale blue. The sales-lady tugged at the orange shirt, like a demand, and Holly cast it off without shame, stood in a Hello Kitty faded bra and her short, short skirt without thinking once about nakedness, and the woman with the name on the piece of paper, she slung a loose, slouchy sweater over the top of Holly's head that hung in loose, luxurious folds to her hip (while muttering something about lingerie to the assistant.
She didn't know what she liked, but the sweater was soft enough to pet, and in the mirror on the opposite wall she looked like someone different and she looked back at the baby and Clementine.] What do you think?