““over the low flame. He didn’t like the way his voice sounded, but until recent events, he’d never had reason to complain about anything. Now he couldn’t help it. “They pat me on the arm,” he explained to Henry, “and tilt their heads at me with their eyes as gooey as a fresh batch of chocolate.” It wasn’t until the contest that he’d begun to realize that people had always looked at him with sympathy—or at least ever since he’d gotten the scars. Other than the need to massage aloe into them, and the occasional itch or throbbing, and the fact that the ones on his hands sometimes made it hard for””
