Hill was seated. Michelle was on her like a fly, asking her questions about her past foster homes she did her best to avoid, pretending to be swamped every night with sudden reams of homework and unable to be reached by phone. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. She was standing there, smiling at the audience as at her friends. We have to hang about in the interval.
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