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“It used to be that seasons filled me with expectation,” she said. “Now they seem more a hostile encroachment.”
He was a pile of American garbage and she feared she would love him forever.
Malcolm was unafraid of social discomfort, which is not to say that he courted it; but it was common enough that he assumed it requisite, and endured it without grievance.
Over the years she’d found it beneficial to visit churches from time to time and share her darker thoughts.
