\" Shari drawled as she looked up from her dissected sausage. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner. He had been frozen in time at age forty-two. She knew that the stairs they had to negotiate to the vestry were extremely narrow, and she had made her plans. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think.
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