” He replied. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. "Flying fish. It isn’t illusions—for us. The door leaned inward. The hard work will be his, until we yank this young fellow back from the brink. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. He continued to do this for the rest of the evening intermittently, in and out, among other topics. She left for good after he fell asleep.
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