Shul A. T. M

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“Fine, Snow. We’re alone. Whatever you have to say—say it.” I cross my arms, too. “All right,” I say, “just . . . sit down, okay?” “Why should I sit down?” “Because you’re making me uncomfortable.” “Good,” he says. “You should be glad I’m not making you bleed.”
Carry On: The Rise and Fall of Simon Snow
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