His voice was bland, empty, with that thread of tiredness underneath, and under that was something else. She tried to kiss him, and when he turned his head away, she slapped him twice hard, first one cheek then the other. Think of them, perhaps, as wounds, freshly opened wounds that any preternatural infection can enter you through. Ted's right, I said, putting a little too much emphasis on his name.
Afraid, just maybe, of dying. Gee, thanks, Dad. I'm not going to talk about it. We have learned the lesson well, but I would rather have stayed in a world where it was not true.
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