Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. The Times slipped from his fingers. “So it’s like you’re a dead end?” He asked innocently. ” The girl sat up and looked at him with a curious twist at the corners of her mouth —humorous or pathetic, he could not tell which. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. Their heads touched again, their arms tightened.
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