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Can a story haunt you? Possess you? There are times I think recounting the events of that Saturday in June is just an excuse for those more distant events to make their way out into the world once more.
For her to attack him here, the last bastion of his pride and self-respect, is the kind of betrayal of which only someone you love is capable.
Life goes on. That’s the remarkable thing, isn’t it?
She lost him to light the color of the full moon, of the froth on top of a wave, of a burial shroud.
