’ ‘You mean the bookroom, miss. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. I couldn’t rest or eat or sleep. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. The students passed Juicy Fruit sticks and notes back and forth, bartering various forms of social currency. Ruth loved him.
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