Mr. She stuffed her violin in its case and rushed into the hallway towards John, who stood outside of 118 with his arms crossed. Her faith in human beings revived. She passed inside and upstairs without a word. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked.
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