Pushing the door open, as she expected, the people in line outside, and the cleaner who just knocked on the door, looked at her.
She lowered her head, grabbed the bag strap, and left in a hurry.
It’s like being a thief, for fear of being caught, for fear of encountering acquaintances.
After walking on the street in a muddle-headed manner all afternoon, she limped until dark, and her mind was still a mess.
I don’t know what to do next.
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