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We go to a truck stop, where we eat meat loaf and macaroni and cheese, which is one of the few things Henri acknowledges as being superior to anything we had on Lorien.
catch myself. I take a deep breath and say, “John Smith.”
I think the solitude is getting to us both. Not that we aren’t used to solitude. We are. But the solitude in Ohio is different from that of most other places. There is a certain silence to it, a certain loneliness.