192 Her skirt had ridden almost to her hips. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. It’s John. When the carpenter a moment afterwards stretched out his hand, scarcely knowing whether he was alive or dead, he found himself alone. She slipped into bed and struggled to stay awake until she heard Cathy and Larry 14 stirring. “How old are you?” “Sixteen.
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