I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. ‘Get you invited to a party where the French émigrés will be present? Nothing easier, dear boy. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. She hated tricking Shari, whose joy for life was the only thing that made her naive enough to fall for laced iced tea or hot cocoa, depending on the season. Mr. . Now keep still.
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