Quicksand
Well, let them. I, for one, wish that there was some way that they could forever stay out from the poisonous stuff thrown at them, literally thrown at them, Margaret Creighton, for food. Poor things.”
Margaret laughed. “That‘s just ridiculous sentiment, Helga, and you know it. But you haven‘t had any breakfast, yourself. Jim Vayle asked if you were sick. Of course nobody knew. You never tell anybody anything about yourself. I said I‘d look in on you.”
“Thanks awfully,” Helga responded, indifferently. She was watching the sunlight dissolve from thick orange into pale yellow. Slowly it crept across the room, wiping out in its path the morning shadows. She wasn‘t interested in what the other was saying.
“If you don‘t hurry, you‘ll be late to your first class. Can I help you?” Margaret offered uncertainly. She was a little afraid of Helga. Nearly everyone was.
“No. Thanks all the same.” Then
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