I want him as my friend. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. You give her a daub here and there where the rust shows. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother.
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