Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. A boy like John’s dashing friend David Mitchell, someone who shares your love of academics. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. " "What did I say?" "Only one word," she said, offering her first white lie. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth.
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