No great lover of state or state costume at any time, he was generally, towards the close of an evening, completely in dishabille, and in this condition he now presented himself to his subjects. “In a sense—yes. “Hey you,” he said affectionately. The manager, however, who stood in the wings, nodded to her to proceed, and the orchestra commenced the first few bars of the music. The Law was around the corner and down the narrow hall, puffing a Virginia Slims Menthol in frantic sips, teetering uncomfortably out of an emergency exit door.
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