Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. You have to see her to understand. Before there is any change, any real change, I shall be dead—dead—dead and finished—two hundred years!. He held in his hands many threads. “But the thing is, I want a job.
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