He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. “Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. Nor was Jack by any means the only stripling in the room. By the intense look of him, she guessed that she had just encountered for the first time the boy genius Martin Chen. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness.
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