Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. “I’m not nearly so sure as you. The young man had knocked over the siphon. ’ ‘Some of them more pleasurable than others, I take it.
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