Only I’m so incensed with that crazy fool Gerald that—oh, well, never mind. " The Wastrel tried to reach Ruth's lips. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon. Water I need. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it.
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