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A reply is sent to the tangle fingered Charles:


Dear Kenneth (Prince KVK! I like that!)

I do not understand either.

I got that strange email from someone in Nigeria and was most confused as to who they were and why they wanted to chat with me. He said that he had got my name off ICQ, which is a lie; I am not on it. So how did he find me?

I summoned up all my bravado and wrote to him. I told him that you would come around and box his ears and then say a few words into the tattered remains if he didn't leave me alone. He wrote back very apologetic and sent his regards to my husband. (That's you!)

I think he has gone away. I am not sorry. Why do you think I would want to go after him? Is that what you want? Just because I am a prostitute doesn't mean I don't have some standards.

I must go to work now but before I go a friend gave me some 'Tsire' powder. It is supposed to be from West Africa. It seems to be crushed peanuts and spices and I am supposed to coat meat with it. Kebabs, I think. Do you know it?

Don't work too hard, my darling.

Much love,

Felicity.


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