\" Shari drawled as she looked up from her dissected sausage. If nothing else had clinched that, the purse had. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. Her hair was the one part of her that did not exude the air of wealth. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat. As he gazed at these lights, they suddenly seemed to disappear, and a tremendous shock was felt throughout the frame of the boat. It's your eagerness that bothers me.
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