CHAPTER I. \" Shari wanted to own her own hair salon as her mother Cathy had always wanted to. His countenance was almost as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side. Don’t imagine that. She had one idea, she found, very clear in her mind—that she would get a Research Scholarship, and so contrive another year in the laboratory. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me. Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will get this under if I am killed in doing it!” She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her.
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