“Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. ’ ‘Aye, but she don’t reckon to militiamen. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. We've got to get him to care.
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