Ramage,” she cried, “you are outrageous! You understand nothing. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. Am I so forgettable?” He strode down the hall as she ran to catch up with him past lockers someone had painted an abysmal shade of gray blue. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart.
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