“It’s for people who like books. You’re a person, you like books.” “Maybe too much.” You would hardly know it, the way he was picking at the ragged spine of a book on the nearest shelf, where he’d turned his stare away. “Anything I like, I like too much. So I have rules, two comments, then stop.” “Preston, that sounds exhausting.” And lonely. As lonely as the way her chatterbox habit of smoothing her path to anything she needed sometimes felt. Like a wall of talk between her and everyone else, everyone she was using. “It is.” He ran a hand over his hair. “But it’s better than people wandering
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