She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. And it's uncanny. Rubbishy novels and pernicious rascals. After all, why need one look down. When John’s parents weren’t home, they made love in his bedroom. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. " Quilt, however, seemed unwilling to speak.
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