“Either I want to shout,” said Mr. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. I am a physician first, which gives the man in me a secondary part. That is very certain.
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