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. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. Knap. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean.
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