“Am I hurting you?” She asked. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. “Mom, this is the girl I asked to Prom, Lucy. Of course I know nothing of what really did happen in Paris—if even you ever saw him there. The moviegoers exited the cinema in the customary daze that resulted from two hours of sensory bombardment. “I wondered. ” She turned away. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. The theme was a masquerade.
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