F. Wood. “I love you. Shari’s head poked out of the bathroom where she had been preoccupied with preparations for her morning shower. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. ” With a murmured word of excuse she glided away, and Courtlaw, who had come with a mission which seemed to him to be one of life or death, was left to listen to the latest art jargon from Chelsea. She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done.
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