Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. He advanced a step towards her. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. . The by now familiar dramatic sigh came. Just let him down easy, Lucy. \" Michelle met her at her locker, right on schedule, carrying a backpack so overstuffed it was its own conversation piece.
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