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. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. He turned round toward her and found her looking at him and standing very still. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. It must have cut him.
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