Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. ‘Doesn’t she, Gerald?’ Gerald held up his hands. “Anyway, enough about that. I daresay you have the whole thing wrong, Gerald. He returned to attend the funeral. I could tell it was Italian, you see. .
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