She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. I’m anxious, joyfully anxious, like a man when he has found a treasure. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. \" Shari wanted to own her own hair salon as her mother Cathy had always wanted to. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door.
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