She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. ’ Still the girl said nothing. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. “Who decorated the school like this?” She asked, peering up at the multicolored banners that hung everywhere.
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