She had other boyfriends and hung out at Foster’s only bar most of the time. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. He shut his eyes and groped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit of mummery would get over. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth.
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