She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. She looked in the rear-view mirror. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. When will he be up?" "That depends. “I hope that whatever your plans may be, you will give me the opportunity of seeing something of you now and then.
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