“You’re never going back,” I whispered. “Tell me you’re not leaving.” Quietly, he grabbed my arm and pulled me down to my seat at the head of the table. “I’m not leaving. Stop thinking like that.” I wanted to tell him about what had happened twenty years before, the good, the bad, the very good, and the terrible. There’d be time to say these things. I wanted to bring him up-to-date, to let him know everything, as I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted to tell him how on seeing the white of his arms on his very first day among us, all I’d wanted was to be held by them and to feel them
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