She was not an adventure, she was not a fine and precious thing. She was a girl.
The fundamental mistake I had always made - and that she had, in fairness, always led me to make - was this: Margo was not a miracle. She was not an adventure. She was not a fine and precious thing. She was a girl.
And I put the latte down on a table, awash in the happy middle of my greatest adventure.
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