This afternoon she’d probably take the jacket off; her arms were still slender and already turning brown. “Ow, ow, ow,” she moaned, collapsing onto a bank, tears stinging her eyelids, white spots jumping up 011 her brown legs. ”“Shut up,” said Fen, blushing to the roots of her sweating hair. Tomorrow, he thought with a thud of fear, he’d be competing against them.
Her mother liked it drawn back from her forehead, but today she was jolly well going to let it flop loose. Fen was only thirteen, but was already showing distinct promise. It was like riding on a kitchen floor after you’ve spilt hot fat. 119 “I promise I won’t let you get pregnant,” said Rupert gravely.
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