RANSVESTIA

skull. He let go of her hand, rather quickly, and grabbed another tran- quilizer.

"Let me get this straight. You want to keep those built-in falsies. You don't want male clothing. Then-”

"I want to remain in skirts. I am a TV girl, as I said before."

Harry buried his face in his hands. "Ye gods! I've lost my best man. Those fiends have turned him into a fairy!"

"Now, Chiefie dear, don't be so upset," Cynthia comforted him, "So what if you have lost a man-you know as well as I do that they're con- sidered expendable, anyway-look on the positive side instead - you now have the best woman agent this outfit has ever had."

"I want you to get lost!" Harry snapped disconsolately.

"Oh, I don't think you mean that," Cynthia replied in a more serious tone, "If you lose me, you lose the list. It's locked up safely inside my pretty head. Then what will you have to show for all those bills, plus my salary for the last six months?”

Harry looked up at her, his mouth hanging open. Consternation showed on his face. He could tell that Cynthia meant what she said.

"Besides, it's all your fault," she continued, "You put me into women's things. If you had read page 24 of that psychiatrist's silly report, you would have known that one contact with feminine garments can convert a sus- ceptible subject into a confirmed TV. That's one thing the report was right about."

"That, I don't believe," Harry retorted sarcastically.

Cynthia was irked. She threw down the gauntlet. "Well, my dear, you wouldn't have any objection to trying some things on yourself, would you?" she suggested, "I have some real nice undies in my vanity case-I think you'd like them."

"Oh, no you don't - certainly not! You've got to be crazy if you think you can get me to put on any of that stuff."

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