Sentence The Tbwohundredandfourth
It wasn't the bite of the lycanthrope with his hairy whiskers, nor the salacious banter of the
 
miscellaneous workmen flashing their BBs that laid poor Teri low – it was the roar of the greasepaint
 
and the smell of the crowd when she opened the old box of slapstick and the inhalation of those concentrated fumes gave her the migraine she really could have done without!