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... n he looks like he doesn’t know whether to do what he wants... or let me do what I want. Pulling a small comb from my new purse, I take out and fix my hair right there.
"Oh, that’s like how you wore it before. So that wasn’t... like... a bet?"
Fixing a look on the child, trying to remember he *is* but an innocent child and not a rude adult... I clearly fail to control the warmth in my eyes. Or the lack of it.
"I... I mean, that’s what some of my friends said when I showed ...
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