Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit. She cried out with the pain of it. Lord, I am sixty. She was powerless to move from her chair. Then, there's Mr. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care.
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