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“Then, I’ll see you on Sunday…” He smiled. Oliver Blackwood was smiling. At me. For me. Because of me. “…Lucien.”
“No, listen. There is actually a choice here. And the choice is, either you never trust anybody ever again, and pretend that stops people hurting you when clearly it doesn’t. Or, um, don’t do that. And maybe your house will burn down. But, at least you’ll be warm. And probably the next place will be better.
