Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. ‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you. He gave her silence in return. “Uh, I think I might, Shari. You're a friend of the young man?" "If you mean did I know him before he became ill, no. He had chosen his time well.
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