He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. “I will not have this slavery. You’re splendid stuff, you know, but you’ve got nothing ready to sell.
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