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“So, Madame, where are we going?” I asked Madame. Shuly was looking out the window of the taxi, her nose pressed tight against the pane. “Ah, ma petite! You’ll smell it in a second.”
“You expect me to pay $2 to have you sprinkle sand all over me?” I was suspicious. I was outraged. I was also — though I would never have admitted it — intrigued. Had Shimmy lost his marbles?