"Auntie?" he cried. Anna left the room on tiptoe. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. She listened, listened intently for several minutes. I think that nearly every manager in London has made me an offer. Her heart in her mouth, hoping against hope, Melusine made her way back to where she had left the boy. “I suppose things have changed?” she said.
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