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Page 23
Mariah turned on a lamp in the corner. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to concentrate on the script, but she wanted to be by the window as she tried.

Two hours later, she stood with a gasp. "No!" she exclaimed.
Her mind reeled. Angela had been right to jump right on this screenplay. It was wonderful! The characters had come alive, practically strolling into her hotel room to tell their stories.
But the ending . . .
Mariah rushed toward the nightstand beside the bed and lifted the telephone receiver. The room was dark except for the lamp she had lighted earlier. She punched in the numbers for her credit card call, then switched on the bed lamps. The brightness in the room was startling. For a short while, Mariah had been in an era where the nights were illuminated only dimly by candles, oil lamps and moonlight.
She sat on the edge of the firm bed, her short fingernails tapping on the nightstand while the phone rang once, twice. "Be home, Angela," Mariah demanded.
As though she'd heard, Angela answered on the third ring. "You're there?" she asked Mariah without ceremony.
"Of course. Look, Angela, I've read the script."
"What do you think?"
"It's outstanding! Strong dialogue, action, adventure. And the charactersthey're utterly memorable. If it's cast right, the whole thing's Academy Award material." She paused. "Except for one thing."
"The end? Yes, Pierce warned me about that."
Mariah shook her head, willing Angela to see it her way. "We can't kill Thorn. I mean, the whole story is about his reacclimation to society. And just as he finally adjusts, he dies."
"In a fair fight, Pierce said. One that the entire story builds to."
"I'm not sure how fair it was. The whole thing was a setup. I'll bet the fight was rigged."
Angela laughed. "You sound as if the hero is real, like

 
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