"The end is the most beautiful in English literature. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. Am I so forgettable?” He strode down the hall as she ran to catch up with him past lockers someone had painted an abysmal shade of gray blue. "One of us has got to die," he panted. She would lure him, as he was an easily tempted child predator who could even more easily be turned into prey. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her.
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