“Holy shit!” Giggling and snickering was amplified by asbestos tiles and reverberated by metal desks. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. Wood. A person of somewhat artificial graces and mannerisms, she was for once in her life perfectly natural. I felt his heart. Missy looked like a troll with lipstick on. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her.
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