. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. ’ The smile vanished. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. "Oh, you're here, are you?" said the ruffian, with an exulting laugh: "I've been looking for you everywhere.
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