I do not want to get only a second-hand flavour of life. The Becks were the best foster family that she had ever had. The atmosphere seemed heavy with the odour of drugs. But probably not the truth. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. His tone was rough, almost threatening. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. “I say!” he cried. “Here goes,” he said.
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