Shari’s head poked out of the bathroom where she had been preoccupied with preparations for her morning shower. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. ‘Not but what it was near that before Jarvis died. Would a hundred dollars interest you?" "Very much, if I can earn it without offending my conscience. ’ ‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously echoing her greatniece. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. She had once reconciled in her mind that she was happy as long as she had him.
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