” She looked around for the voice around the Orchestra room, fumbling around with her books. She hated tricking Shari, whose joy for life was the only thing that made her naive enough to fall for laced iced tea or hot cocoa, depending on the season. She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic.
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