“Well . . . ?” she prompted. She looked pleased with herself and eager for praise. “It’s a finely made coat,” he said. “But do you like it?” I like it very much. But most of all, I like you—a great deal more than I ought—and even if it’s too late for me to save myself, I’m not going to give you false hope. He swung his arms. “Well, it does offer more flexibility in the arms. You know, for punching orphans and sacrificing lambs to Satan.” She returned to the boxes, stacking them with brisk, irritated motions. “Does it give you some sort of cruel satisfaction, always belittling my work? I know
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