He went on with intense urgency. “She has nothing to be afraid of,” he continued. Businesswomen in pointy-toed shoes swooned coyly in his direction, tipping their noses over their glossy magazines to admire 273 him. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. And she felt that if she went home it was imperative to pay. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself.
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