It slid off flimsily. It was a grand life. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. “Which one?” “The one whose life you have been making a burden, who has been all the time shielding her sister.
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