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192 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1976
At precisely two o'clock Marjorie McMillan appeared, and Miss Boltz's first horrified impression was that she was disrobing. Her shoes and stockings were piled neatly on the floor. She was in the act of unbuttoning her blouse. She glanced at the camera and recoiled in mock fright.Well, I can see P's point. Though if you speak fluent French, think you look good in a bikini, and would like to participate in some cutting-edge research on speech-enabled educational software, by all means feel free to contact us.
"What are you cats and toms doing in here?" she cooed. "I thought I was alone."
She was a trim blonde, with a flashy, brazen kind of prettiness. Her profile displayed sensational curves. She smiled, tossed her head, and started to tiptoe away.
"Oh well, as long as I'm among friends--"
The blouse came off. So did the skirt. She stood before them in an alluringly brief costume that consisted exclusively of shorts and a halter. The camera recorded its scarlet and gold colors brilliantly. She pranced about in a shuffling dance step, flicking the switch for a closeup of the blackboard as she danced past her desk.
"Time to go to work, all you cats and toms," she said. "This is called a sentence." She read aloud as she wrote on the blackboard. "The - man - ran - down - the - street. 'Ran down the street' is what the man did. We call that the predicate. Funny word, isn't it? Are you with me?"
