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werewolf
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they had just finished a real dustup of a conversation, about them, about others, about who loved who. she broke the silence. "i haven't decided which way home is quicker." he responded thoughtlessly, "depends on traffic." god, he thought. i have to break this off. who talks like this? everyone he chastised himself. it seemed the province of the upper class, whose lives had always come up roses, to deign to think all of life would be discussions of philosophy and poetry. and they didn't end up any better for it. they had therapy for their neurosis, instead of learning to bury them in silence and hobbies and the momentum of a day. but it wasn't like that was more effective, even if it was healthier. they were all coping mechanisms, however they were dressed up. "if we're to resell the house, we'd have to install a bathroom." this time it was he who brought it up. couldn't blame her after all. she made one of her cute remarks that his hands were big and hers were small. he said, "more like little and littler." that was a real difference between them. she told him she loved him, asked if he had known. "of course i know" he had responded. she called him a sucker for that. it was this ability of hers to seem light and merry that kept him with her, that deceived him into thinking she was like him. he ignored any hint of desperate seriousness in it.
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070923
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