Sydney Courtlaw—Mr. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. And as a natural consequence, they don’t do so well, and they don’t get on—and so the world doesn’t pay them. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. She had started wearing the dresses he bought for her, the white and blue shift he said, “brings out the color in your eyes”.
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