“Imprisonment?” Someone says from the doorway. “That’s very dramatic. Will she make this much of a theater about everything?” For a moment, that voice in this house with my stomach calcifying in slow despair is so out of place I’m certain I am imagining it. Or if not imagining it, I am at the very least mistaken. I almost don’t dare look for fear of breaking the spell and resigning myself well and truly to my fate. Hope in any form feels fragile as spun sugar. But there he is, swaggering into the room in a way that would have been ridiculous had he not been so good-looking, all scruffed up and
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