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I searched in its beady eyes and tried to find a motherly warmth.
He barks at Coco. Coco barks back.
I’d love to prove that I can sell windows.
“You’re a bomb,” Biswell says to Hope.
We met in a dorm hallway, half past midnight.
Turn the corner, let the darkness swallow you, and you’re in the stacks.
It was a Friday morning at 9:34 a.m. when the Rapture occurred.
What was I now? A witness? A victim? A mother? A suspect?
This is what happens when I listen. I react.
There is an irony that sometimes rings Mona like a bell.
She can really throw herself into a stoning.
It felt like the sun beating down on closed eyelids.
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