Finished Folds (1—2)
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4linch this time. He would control it. He was, after all, the master. The thoughts settled in his guts, and he grabbed the plate and started walking down the windy stairs. If only
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4feeling his warm breath, with hints of garlic and toddler dreams, caress my sweating face. This was going to be his final day, not mine. Together we spun around, and hit the