Was Little Clementine seventeen or eighteen… looking like that?
Sylvan Cheney took another big gulp of water, the cold liquid slid down to his heart, filling his whole body with chills.
These days, he frequently dreamed of this little girl, sometimes as a seventeen or eighteen-year-old, sometimes just a little girl, maybe ten, every dream was fleeting, fleeting to the point that he couldn't grasp them.
He didn't know if it was the grown-up Little Clementine, but in the dreams, he was very strict with this girl, just like the dream he had just now, he thought back on it and felt he was being unreasonable.
When she ran out the door, the dream cut off, and he didn't know if he eventually got her back home.
The little girl's temperament was quite like Jasmine Yale's, she liked to talk back, and she liked to say a bunch of things that made or didn't make sense.
