“I’m sorry about your head.” “I’m sorry I thought that little bear was you.” “You have so much to learn, my child,” he teased, pleased to hear her chuckle. “Do your sisters know you’ve got a migraine?” “No. And please don’t tell them. They worry about me and when they’re worried about me, they argue more.” Now Berg chuckled. “That’s Dag and Britta. And me and Dag when we’re worried about Britta. And Britta and me when we’re worried about Dag. So I get it.” “You do get it, don’t you? It makes talking to you easier.” “What do you mean?” “I’ve been with a few people—friends, boyfriends—who don’t
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