He looked just as Julian had the night she had first met him outside the Joliet Laundromat. He cannot. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. ‘Yes, I thought you’d say that.
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