“It must be fun to be an artist.” Stasia’s speech was somewhat impeded by the mouthful of pins she was trying not to swallow. “Fun?” Cynthia frowned, thinking. “Yes, I suppose it is. I wouldn’t know how to be anything else. Ouch! That was me you were pinning.” She braced herself with one arm against the bulkhead as the ship tipped at a slight angle. “Make that sleeve as short as you can.”…
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