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... rature of the air conditioner. What kind of strange dream was that? That witch, my mate? Over my dead body. She dared to utter the rejection words first, as if I was going to grapple over her.
It must be one of her tricks. If she thinks using witchcraft will make me like her even a bit, then she’s a joker.
My inability to find the slightest hint of the girl who saved me saddened me. Her mother said she usually leaves clues but was upset with me because I had still not found her. ...
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