‘They eloped. ” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. This was the worst summer that I ever had in my life, Europe and all, and I can’t tell you how many times I drove by that Violin Camp hoping to catch a look at you, praying that there wasn’t some horny violin guy waiting to ask you out. On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water. They were the only real marriages she had seen clearly. I should know you—in Heaven or Hell.
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