What she had termed illuminative now appeared to be only another phase of the mystery which enveloped the child. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. \" She waved.
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