She stuffed her violin in its case and rushed into the hallway towards John, who stood outside of 118 with his arms crossed. He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. “Exceptionally so. I am on my way to an aunt who lives in Hartford, Connecticut. “When did you start?” She said between puffs.
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