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I have noted since that some kinds of men like to bully beautiful women.
“No one wants to die,” said Becka. “But some people don’t want to live in any of the ways that are allowed.”
reading, she said, was when you could hear the words as if they were a song.
“I wish I had a sister,” she said to me one day. “And if I did, that person would be you.”
Still, I wanted to believe; indeed I longed to; and, in the end, how much of belief comes from longing?
