"It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. Over here, there was generally some unusual twist to a case. I spoke a thought aloud. Shari was snoring, the pill having worked its magic. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. They'll be back soon enough—or not at all. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. So good an opportunity may never occur again. \"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.
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