I somehow understood. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for a struggle; her aunt had never seen her looking so fine or so pretty. “Is it okay if I go to the Junior Prom with John Diedermayer?” She asked Cathy in a low voice. In all her life no living thing had had to depend upon her, not even a dog or a cat.
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