She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed. Even then it sent Spurlock spinning backward, to crash against the wall. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away. He kissed her lightly on the lips. You ought to have had better advice two years ago.
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