“I’m not—” But I stopped, because he was right. ”Sarah makes a soft, awful sound. They honked peaceably to one another as they splashed down on the softly luminous water. Michael had been leaning forward, resting his head on Jackie’s head and watching.
“I’m going where there’s woods and scenery. It was powerful. ”“Who the hell do you think you are?” shouted Michael, surprising them both. When the poem finally ended, it was evening.
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