They sat in the windowed booth at the restaurant across from each other. Look at the poor victim at your feet. He was now a sophomore at Lincoln, Lucy a Junior, and Shari a Senior. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. You know not in what dark places my life has been cast; with what crimes it has been stained. He could lose himself for hours at a time. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. She lied.
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