P. T. jumping at her heels like a star around the moon. It was a beautiful night.
Perhaps they could run over the hill and across the fields to the stream and swing themselves into Terabithia.
They had never been there in the dark. But there was enough moon for them to find their way into the castle,
and he could tell her about his day in Washington. And apologize. It had been so dumb of him not to ask if Leslie could go, too.
He and Leslie and Miss Edmunds could have had a wonderful day—different, of course, from the day he and Miss Edmunds had had,
but still good, still perfect. Miss Edmunds and Leslie liked each other a lot.
It would have been fun to have Leslie along. I'm really sorry, Leslie. He took off his jacket and sneakers, and crawled under the covers.
I was dumb not to think of asking. “S’OK,” Leslie would say. “I've been to Washington thousands of times.”
Did you ever see the buffalo hunt? Somehow it was the one thing in all Washington that Leslie had never seen,
and so he could tell her about it, describing the tiny beasts hurtling to destruction.
His stomach felt suddenly cold. It had something to do with the buffalo, with falling, with death.
With the reason he had not remembered to ask if Leslie could go with them to Washington today.
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