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She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. Not about girls that I date. I’m glad you’re back for all sorts of reasons. Why do you look so sad?” She opened her eyes wider and stifled her emotions. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. I took the usual way home.
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