Acne sprayed her cheeks in a fine red spatter where it intermingled with brown freckles. The whole story of your relationship is a fabrication. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. “You won’t give me away, Anna. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night.
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