"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
        13       |
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            H   |
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. . . .         |
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. . . .         |
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no longer writing in the third person