His glasses were gone. She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. He had done his best, pitching with determined fury that resulted in two outs. After all, what could happen? He was looking at her very hard and earnestly. She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting. Wood.
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