She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth. I hoped for a family like the Becks and I waded through the system until I got them, so maybe life isn’t so damn hopeless after all. ’ He made a pretence of rising and making a sortie to the corner to see if anyone was there. Then she reverted to the trousers. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato.
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