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  • We don't look at each other anymore. Not really. Not since I pulled him from that opium den. Now when I look at him, I see the addict. And when he looks at me, he sees what he would rather not remember. I wish I could be his adored little girl again, sitting at his side.

    Libba Bray (2010). “The Sweet Far Thing”, p.38, Simon and Schuster