The hills surrounded her cave home protectively. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. “There ought to be a Censorship of Books. ‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it. My mother shall never degrade herself by a connection with you. Stanley in person.
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