I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet. “Who did you live with before the Becks? I hear things. “And if she can’t have the right one? “We’ve developed such a quality of preference!” She rubbed her knuckles into her forehead. I never saw a man who wasn't. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. It was Missy and Michelle in her grandmother's old Buick.
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