" "Proceed, Sir," said Trenchard, breathing hard. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. He let go of the girl’s arm. "But, I own, I think it is like. The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. It was an odd room, used principally for the reception of guests and visiting dignitaries, packed from end to end with ill-assorted sofas and padded chairs.
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