"Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. This was the worst summer that I ever had in my life, Europe and all, and I can’t tell you how many times I drove by that Violin Camp hoping to catch a look at you, praying that there wasn’t some horny violin guy waiting to ask you out. The months that followed September spiraled downward. The white cloth was instantly dyed with crimson; but, regardless of this, Jonathan continued his murderous assault.
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