She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. Just me and another girl named Krista who turned eighteen and left right about when I got there. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. “I can’t imagine what has come over you,” said her aunt. She became eager to explain herself, to show herself in the right light.
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