She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. I can’t just go up to Josh and ask him out, even though I fantasize about doing just that all the time. I shall have no faith in future in bolts and bars. Ennison.
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