To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. “Hey John, how’s it going?” “Hey Michelle. \" She whirled around by instinct, frightening the boy who she had borrowed the pencil from. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill.
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