Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. "Set your prisoner free!" returned Wood. Socks and shoes were harder to find, and she ended up wearing men’s athletic tube socks and a pair of dust caked flip-flops that had sat forlornly in Locker 49 since 1978. The echoes of his hard, unpleasant laugh reached Anna on her way upstairs. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. I want to be myself.
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