Over here a man quickly loses faith, and I find myself back on solid ground once more. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. “Anything is better than this—this stifled life down here. “Shhh. “Ann Veronica,” he said. ’ ‘What name would you like, then?’ Her shadowed features turned in his direction.
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