Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. I’ll see you Seventh Period!” She said, quickly ducking into the English Room. I’ve got no feminine class feeling.
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