” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. The door leaned inward. Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face. S. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience.
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