The boy would never know just how lucky he was. It’s—it’s a social difference. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. His large, coarse lips drew wider apart. A boy can forget his amatory troubles playing baseball; but a girl can't find any particular distraction in doing fancy work.
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