He stood in the static beam of her smile. I must go now, he thought desperately. Oh, let me say something more—“Fine, Miss Wong. I’ll speak to you then.” Something more, something— He wrenched his body away. (I must turn from her.) Say one thing more, thank you, be you, love you. He walked to the door, his thoughts quieting: Who is she? Oh, the things that should have been said. I have been brusque, military, efficient. But the luxuriance of thought and word I would have given her. The door swung open and evening brushed blue fingers on his eyes. My god, he thought, as coolness struck his
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