It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her. But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God. She took a shower after a particularly harsh volleyball debacle only to find that her locker had been picked and her outfit of the day, gray sweatpants and a shapeless pink sweater, were gone. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. ‘Come, cry a truce.
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