‘But what way, Emile?’ ‘Your family, mademoiselle, the family of your father. Groups of boys took to ogling her as she walked frenetically from class to class. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. But you are Annabel.
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