I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. “I’m very shy, and I would like to opt out if you don’t mind. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. I thought that you were he.
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