She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. She detected that the young officer’s shoulders tensed whenever she moved in the back of his 94 car. Hitherto, no visiters had been permitted to see him.
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