She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. . It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. . John did not see her until the last period. “I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am.
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