She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. She shook her head, almost breaking a smile. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth. ‘It is pretty. "Then take her back," said the manager. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments.
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