She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered.
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