Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. “You blithering idiot!” he exclaimed. " "You did right," returned Trenchard. “How old are you?” “Sixteen. What she had termed illuminative now appeared to be only another phase of the mystery which enveloped the child. You won't often see white folks. “Mr. “John, did those roses cost a fortune?” “Like I’m going to tell you!” “Oh, John, they were so pretty, but they must have cost an arm and a leg, and you should be saving for college.
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