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That girl loved to read like no one else, and she was making up for the months they spent literally running for their lives, when books were few and far between.
Mark had always felt like she was his as a simple matter of the situation. Pretty much everyone else she’d ever known had died; he was a scrap left over for her to take, the alternative to being forever alone. But he gladly played his part, even considered himself lucky—he didn’t know what he’d do without her.
