’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. I don’t care if you never tell me any of your secrets. She felt herself shaking again. Aliva Trencher. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes.
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