“I came back hoping you might be here,” he told me by way of introduction. “I did too,” I said. “I thought if you weren’t going to speak to me, then I should speak to you.” I looked directly into his eyes and somehow already knew that seated across from me was the most important man I would ever know in my life. More important than Charles Avery. More important than Julian Woodbead. The only one whom I would ever love and who would ever love me in return. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m a little shy, that’s all.” “You can’t be shy in Amsterdam,” he said, echoing Smoot’s words of the previous night.
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