You don’t understand. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel. She knew now that he never would. I didn’t understand before that letter. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. I’ve always wanted to look older. They found out Cris had some sort of criminal past, more child abuse stuff of course.
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