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Twitching late for an afternoon meeting, second in line for a pending appointment with an administrator, I busied myself on my iBook.
Finally he oozed into the office. “All these ladies, waiting for me? How did I get so lucky?” He turned to me, the only little lady not mooning at him — “What’s that you’re doing?”
“Working,” I replied, without interrupting my manic keyboard pecking.
“What on?”
“Writing,” I said, refusing to be interrupted.
The wrinkled receptionist giggled nervously.
My twiggy five-foot-nothing frame decorated ...

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