Shari’s eyes widened, “You mean it?” “I’m all yours, head to toe. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. She can be of use to me yet. Perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is.
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