He stepped back further. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. 2. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. The conditions are such as I think you will recognize the justice of.
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