" "May I trust you?" hesitated Thames. Her mother…. She drove me. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. “Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. ” She pulled a small blue box out of the pocket of her hoodie. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. And I heard ‘Alcide’ sing, and that little dance she did. 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. Well, this is OUR thing.
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