Have you not tired of sadness and pain?” 81 She thought she could hear tears in his voice but would not look at him. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. ‘No, let me guess,’ he interrupted.
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