“Just like old times,” she thought sardonically. \"Ever thought about letting me do something with your hair?\" Not needing an answer, Shari got up and whipped out a vented brush from an overstuffed drawer. Sulphurous poisons assaulted her nostrils as she threw the stone to one side of its resting place. “Call it warning, if you like. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. “I do mean that,” she declared. He felt no pain from this cowardly kick. “I’ll go,” he said, “but I warn you that I shall find you out.
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