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“The words would circulate through the wintry air, and not even a little bit of time would pass before he would awaken again, in the morning, with his hands clutched to his chest and his throat stinging of pure joy.” — Grace Curley
The words would circulate through the wintry air, and not even a little bit of time would pass before he would awaken again, in the morning, with his hands clutched to his chest and his throat stinging of pure joy.