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Sitting down for my lesson, I was careful to keep the towel under me and sit up straight.
“I’ll bet you can’t see a thing either,” said Miss Crosman, reaching for my glasses. “And you can relax, you poor dear. This isn’t a boot camp.”
When Miss Crosman finally allowed me to start playing I played extra well, as well as I possibly could. See, I told her with my fingers. You don’t have to feel sorry for me. – “The White Umbrella” by Gish Jen
nervous
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dreary
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nervous