And then there was Marjorie, in the red leather jacket and ankle length black suit. She looked like a tea-reader and her long nose, the support of quite quirky thick glasses, protruded in to the carriage, like her own predictions of the lives of others. She, like many women on the Paris métro, clutched her bag on her lap. But, unlike those women, she was relaxed and confident, perhaps because that very day she had told a believer that he would pay her handsomely. She was not a Cassandra; people believed her and there are rumours that even Delanoe predicted the outcome of the Tabira law through her divination. That said, even she couldn’t predict that she would fall down a flight of stairs, knock her head and start again in her former profession of actuary.
Marjorie
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