His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. He pushed her small hand into his jeans. ’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. ” He passed his hand wearily over his forehead. \"Ever thought about letting me do something with your hair?\" Not needing an answer, Shari got up and whipped out a vented brush from an overstuffed drawer. It was filled with sopping lichens and green benches too slimy to sit upon.
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