She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. “You did a great job on my concerto today. Wait a moment. “There was a keg, hash, LSD, pot, you know, the usual. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. “But I am sorry,” she exclaimed.
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