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fatigue of places built for endings. He had lost weight. His wrists were marked faintly red where cuffs had sat.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “You were right.”
It was not triumphant to hear. Nothing about that room permitted triumph.
“I didn’t want to be,” I said.
He sat down slowly across from me.
“I kept telling myself I wasn’t really continue reading …
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