It was now a quarter past twelve. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. “I will MAKE you love me! Until he has faded—faded into a memory. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia.
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