didn’t have to. I was certain of it. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. She turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55. And what a noise they made! This is how I used to call them. She had learned this art in skirts, and knew well how not to be disadvantaged. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time.
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