" He opened his eyes. Lena was talking with her friend Susan, who had apparently come back from the end of the garden to discuss something important. ...hey were sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, their legs pulled up under them, Lena's bare toes, the nails painted brown, sticking out. Her long dark hair hung slightly in front of her as she leaned forward towards her friend, then swayed around pleasantly as she looked over at him. "Do you think he's really asleep?", she asked quietly, still. His mouth is quirked in a Mona Lisa smirk, but his eyes are smiling. His eyes are red-rimmed and tired. His face is unshaven. He has the beard of a much older man, not a college boy of nineteen or twenty. He presses harder.?It’s not time to try sitting up just yet, suicide girl,? he says with just the faintest hint of a chuckle in his voice. ?You’ve had a rough go of it.? It’s an undoubtedly American voice, with just the faintest hint of British in the vowels and phrasing like ?You’ve had a. More

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