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almost got to me: I’m sorry.
Sorry for what? I asked.
And he could not answer. He could not name the specific thing, because naming it meant admitting it had happened, and admitting it had happened would cost him the story in which he was the aggrieved party.
Goodbye, Dalton.
I hung up. My hand was steady. My chest hurt, but my hand was steady, and that continue reading …
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