Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. “Oh Christ! How old were you?” “Just—well, I was young. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. ” She went as far as her door, then turned to the window.
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