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“Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. I'm not hungry.
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