She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. The months that followed September spiraled downward. Foolish compliments were tossed about like confetti. Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive.
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