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Her right eyebrow shot up, and she clenched her fist, clearly irritated by what she perceived as another disrespectful remark. One of the staff quickly leaned in and whispered, "Miss Cammy, it's a cocktail made with vodka, peach schnapps, orange juice, and cranberry."

"Oh!" she blurted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she realized her mistake. "Go order that before the bar closes—hurry," she instructed, and the staff quickly scurried off to carry out her request.

...

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