He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. ’ “Crude, I admit. " Neither man spoke. “Gods!” cried Ann Veronica, and kept him standing. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. The rich, heavy food sat in her stomach like so many soft pebbles. V. I'll be feeling fine in no time.
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