they can't read my thoughts

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and I have been very

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but

careful not to give any clues in my actions have I? Good heavens, she suddenly realized I don't know how they act – I've never observed that closely. I've seen the obvious ones whom anyone could spot, but I should think it would be something like a fraternity handshake if you were discreet only one of your own kind could recognize you. Somehow the thought comforted her and she found courage to gaze at the girl with red hair again. After all, she thought, I could be just admiring her hair. I used to do things like that in the blissful past, when I was unaware of all this and of my attitude toward it. I've always had a keen appreciation of the beautiful. Why must everything be I must get out

so suddenly changed and terrifying? of this I'll ring the buzzer right now. I Can't stand this any longer. What if she gets off at my stop? I can imagine myself being forced to follow her if she gets off first. Oh, God, I hope she rides past my stop! In this mood I'm perfectly capable of following her and then what would I Bay? Is this your stop, too? My, you have beautiful hair are you one of us? Am I one of you? 0, merciful God, what has happened to me? This is the evil of uprejudiced thinking of the tolerant mind. One must have a safeguard of terror to keep oneself in leash. Yet, can I deny my heritage can I refuse to recognize myself? Isn't self knowledge my avowed code the goal to strive for the greatest goal?

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Suddenly she realized her stop was next. The bus was almost there. She rang the buzzer and rushed frantically for the door, stumbling as she was proprelled to the sidewalk. Then, as the bus moved onward, she turned, overwhelmed with the sorrow of her loss. She ran after it a few steps, yearning for the girl with the red hair. She stood gazing into the darkness for a time. The rain began to fall. Slowly then, she turned homeward.

=9=