… lightly, but firm enough to stay my hand against my own intent. I raised my eyes from the scissor blade, and glimpsed a knowing face, which had a finger to lips shaped the same as mine. That slender hand, covered in mud and ash, it seemed, belonged to a young boy with high cheekbones, almond eyes, skin almost as light as mine, and freckles.
Was it my imagination, or did I see a twinkle in his eyes?
We both ducked our heads again, keeping as low and as still as we could. No hair showed beneath the driving cap, which was pulled down tightly over his face. This must be the Conductor we were told to wait for, just out of sight around the side of the President’s House. He turned to lead me, still holding my hand, which still held my scissors, taking…
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