Stanley,’ I said. ” She glanced shyly at the mirror above her dressing-table, and then about her at the furniture, as though it might penetrate to the thoughts that peeped in her mind. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. It’s true. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. . She was not allowed to bathe herself: another prisoner, with a privileged manner, washed her. Her heart swelled to suffocation. I am on my way to an aunt who lives in Hartford, Connecticut.
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