I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. ” At this point she had perceived that she was drifting from her subject. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. I didn’t allow myself to see things as they were in those days; now I do.
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