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certain, but by then he had decided upon a classical attitude
of passive inquisitiveness.
And one spring day, as green and golden as a poem by Dylan
Thomas, a girl entered the Greek Period and looked about,
furtively. He found it difficult to maintain his marbly
placidity, for lo! she began to disrobe,coach outlet store!
And a square parcel on the floor, in a plain wrapper. It
could only mean...
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He coughed politely, softly, classically...
She jerked to an amazing attention, reminding him of a
women's underwear ad having to do with Thermopylae. Her hair
was the correct color for the undertaking--that palest shade of
Parian manageable--and her gray eyes glittered with the
icy-orbed intentness of Athene.
She surveyed the room minutely, guiltily, attractively...
"Surely stone is not susceptible to virus infections," she
decided. "'Tis but my guilty conscience that cleared its
throat. Conscience, thus do I cast thee off!"
And she proceeded to become Hecuba Lamenting,coach on line, diagonally
across from the Beaten Gladiator and fortunately, not facing in
his direction. She handled it pretty well, too, he grudgingly
admitted. Soon she achieved an esthetic immobility. After a
period of appraisal he decided that Athens was indeed mother of
all the arts; she simply could not have carried it as
Renaissance nor Romanesque. This made him feel rather good.
When the great doors finally swung shut and the alarms had
been set she heaved a sigh and sprang to the floor.
"Not yet," he cautioned,coach purses outlet, "the watchman will pass through
in ninety-three seconds."
She had presence of mind sufficient to stifle her scream,
a delicate hand with which to do it, and eighty-seven seconds
in which to become Hecuba Lamenting once more. This she did,
and he admired her delicate hand and her presence of mind for
the next eighty-seven seconds.
The watch man came, was nigh, was gone, flashlight and beard bobbing