She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. “Be so good as to stand away from that door at once, sir,” Brendon ordered. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Mike seemed visibly happier at her remark. “That’s HIM,” said Ann Veronica, in sound, idiomatic English. Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department.
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