She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. Certain simple purposes emerged from the disingenuous muddle of her feelings and desires. “Gross. Here are the jade carvers. ’ ‘The word of whom?’ came scoffingly from the pretty lips. She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry. You'll find her at Black Mary's Hole. Annabel, I was lying.
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