At length, when he saw no escape from the inevitable, he took the four title pages from the manuscripts and typed new ones, substituting Taber for Spurlock. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly.
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