Court Singrey

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“I told you,” he said, in a voice I didn’t recognize, low and determined. “I have to sleep now.” The countless times he’d said this before, I’d heard it as a complaint. To be sympathized with, yes, but not so much as to alter my plan. But this sounded different. There was no more pleading. Instead, he was doing what he never did—asserting himself.
Imagine Me Gone
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