A Wrong To Make Things Right.

I know I was doing wrong.

I know I was doing wrong.

Holding onto the door, stopping it from closing behind me, I raised my head in her direction. She was still sitting in the same posture, one hand lying limpidly on the table, the other upright propped on the elbow holding her forehead, and her hair — long and flowing — gathered around her in a way that completely hid…

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