She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. The money will last longer, and—it won’t bother you. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. “You need a reason.
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