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."
"Well, you could hardly mistake me for him. So how about a short pass for an old woman who needs to make a private call?" She rested her hand on the door; the edge of a bill stuck out.
He glanced at it and glanced away. "Is midnight late enough?"
"Plenty, I should think."
He took out his book and started writing, tore out the form and handed it to her. As she accepted it the money disappeared. "Don't make it later than midnight"
"Earlier, I hope."
He glanced inside the sedan chair, then looked over her entourage. The four bearers had been standing patiently, saying nothing -- which was not surprising, since they had no tongues. "Zenith Garage?"
"I always trade there."
"I thought I recognized them. Well matched."
"Better look them over. One of them might be the beggar's boy."
"Those great hairy brutes! Get along with you, Mother."
"Hail, Shol."
The chair swung up and moved away at a trot. As they rounded the corner she slowed them to a walk and drew all curtains. Then she patted the cushions billowing around her. "Doing all right?"
"I'm squashed," a voice answered faintly.
"Better squashed than shortened. I'll ease over a bit. Your lap is bony."
For the next mile she was busy modifying her costume, and putting on jewels. She veiled her face until only her live, black eyes showed. Finished, she stuck her head out and called instructions to the head porter; the chair swung right toward the spaceport
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