She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. \"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. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. But it is my fault.
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