Shari’s head poked out of the bathroom where she had been preoccupied with preparations for her morning shower. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. This obstacle, which appeared to preclude the possibility of egress in that quarter, was speedily got rid of. If hopeless love for her made me a robber, it has also saved me many a crime. “Queer letters he writes,” she said.
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