Gerald studied the darkness beyond the aperture. He liked to draw her in, and she did her best to talk. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. I don’t wish to marry you at all.
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