Besides, it was under false pretences. Nothing could occupy her attention long today, unless it concerned her situation. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. “Oh my God! You sounded like my Grandma just now! How did you do that?” He asked, shocked. “Damn”. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale.
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