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"He has been back for three days, three days-- and I have not known-- he has not come to me. I counted each moment he was gone, and I spent the seven days my mind had generously alotted for his leave-taking in carefully-contained composure, bearing the pain and the endless amount of questions. It is too much-- it is too much to ask to treat me this way and go-- but I bore the seven days, and at the end of them I was on pins and needles with torment, absolutely certain that he too must be feeling this uncertainty even to the smallest degree-- and at the very least-- at least would have seen me, would have regarded me. See, he is in the next room-- look, these exchanges we have had-- this semblance of friendship. It is dust. My mind is rattled. I am mistaken-- I hallucinate-- I pretended friendship where it is not. I have arrayed myself beautifully, and what a parade of stupid nonsense I am."

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