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[Saints, she's dense. Or she's just learned to anticipate the worst; she's learned that nothing lasts. And in a way, she's right. But not yet.]

Tell you what?

I've just told you what I need to tell you.

[But for the conspicuous absence of those words that have been ripening on his tongue for months, growing heavier.]

Though that does remind me, I should tell you that you're beautiful when I get home. I don't say it nearly often enough.

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