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It was early June, the flowers whispered around my knees. Len sneaks like a thief, I hide in the dark, watching their house. FLAMINGO ADMIT IT LIFE WOULD BE BORING WITHOUT ME. The light came from the window of Jonathan's room, which was a hazy ivory halo emanating from a curving antique lamp next to his bed. He was reading John Steinbeck's story for class tomorrow, and then would tell me. I tiptoe behind a strawberry tree. The kitchen light gave a long rectangle to the grass when Alice wiped the spoon and the cups.
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