“Get you a cold one?” “No thanks. The unfortunate carpenter struggled violently, but ineffectually. He could not make good his hold. She did not speak to John in the week of school left after the Prom. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once.
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