" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. E. He did not look at her directly, though she fantasized that she could 141 feel his stares from the back of the class on occasion. “Ah, Vee,” he said, “that’s better! and kissed her back rather clumsily. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness.
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