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An italic would not convey how slightly he inflected the words "next Tuesday," with a slight bend forward, as though he were trying to sub-consciously plant the priority in my head, or, alternately, physically drop it on me.
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We looked out into the darkness and then at our children. The dark of the forest was feeding them with ideas, filling their imaginations with things beautiful and things wicked.
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Sunday morning, Patrice asked me "What's print media for?"
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