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“They’re actually all we’re given to read in America,” I say. “Tabloids for books, sad slices of cheese in plastic for lunch . . . It’s truly a godforsaken place.”
“Girl, I am heartbroken and vulnerable. Throw me a bone and tell me a hot prince smells like manly books and leather, okay?”
“All the two of you need to do is a lap or two around the park, making sure to smile at each other, maybe laugh occasionally . . .” “British-people third base,” I mutter,
