“Please don’t,” she said. ” “I suppose we are,” said Vee, rearranging the flowers in her hand. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. It was her foster brother Mike, on his way to the bathroom. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement.
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