She nodded. ’ ‘Where then is your uniform?’ ‘I don’t wear it to balls. "Well, it's a good story. Not very long, if you want to get well. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen.
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