She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. She silently willed him to stop his pacing, to calm down. \"Ever thought about letting me do something with your hair?\" Not needing an answer, Shari got up and whipped out a vented brush from an overstuffed drawer. Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care—but I cannot do it. She came very near that night to resolving that she would return to her home next morning. She's not mischievous—and besides she's chained, and can't reach you.
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