It was her right to be arrogant. It was her right to be cruel. It was her right to inflict pain on lesser beings..., and in princess Shumra’s mind everyone and everything was less than her.For Shumara, the only flaws that she could see as she gazed intently into the mirror at her perfect body were the tears that were streaming down her face and the control collar that encircled her neck. The control collar was there because her elaborate plan to kill her father, King Humana Two had failed and she was now a prisoner awaiting punishment. The tears were primarily because she had been caught.The one thing that the collar could not, or perhaps would not, control was her tears. Since the moment that she felt the collar slide around her throat and heard the click of the latch sealing her fate, her face had been continually wet with tears. There were tears for the beautiful clothes she would never wear again. There were tears for the looks and words of the lowly servants whom she had. "Please," Anne smiled as she interrupted Georgia's immediate outburst, "Come into my office and we can talk there." Georgia followed in Anne's footsteps, her demands placed on hold.Georgia found herself sitting in a red leather upholstered chair, across the desk from Anne Wilmott. The lawyer had asked if she could allow her a minute, while she spoke with her secretary, giving instructions not to be disturbed, as well as a few other directions. Anne left the room. Georgia heard her with half-an-ear, while looking at the degrees and pictures hanging on the wall.If Georgia's math was correct, hardly ever a certain thing, Anne Wilmott would be about 36 years old, based on the undergraduate degree in its frame. Her law degree was dated several years after her undergraduate diploma, but Georgia really had no idea what the combination of Columbia and Michigan Law implied. Georgia had attended the state university for a couple of years, but found it unedifying, when not plainly confusing. The.
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