He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. A long chest under one of the windows was open, some of its contents dragged out and spilling onto the floor. Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. It slid off flimsily.
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