( So early in the morning, America was confused why she couldn't sleep. It might be the stress of the Hand, of what was happening, and what was to become of her. She wasn't facing it, not yet, though. )
( The cloth above her head makes her falter. She looks at the boy, baffled. )
Who's Clara? And my friends wouldn't take anyone's umbrella. ( No, really, she doesn't think any of them would do that. ) I'll find it for you, though.
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( The cloth above her head makes her falter. She looks at the boy, baffled. )
Who's Clara? And my friends wouldn't take anyone's umbrella. ( No, really, she doesn't think any of them would do that. ) I'll find it for you, though.