She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. “I do not blame him. I hoped for a family like the Becks and I waded through the system until I got them, so maybe life isn’t so damn hopeless after all. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. During detention she orchestrated Ray Plote's murder. With your permission, I will go on in my own way. ’ Her eyes narrowed. The first stroke appeared to arouse all the vindictive passions of Jonathan.
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