The class laughed, a few putting their hands to their foreheads in a military salute to mock her. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. " "How?" exclaimed the other. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes.
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