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"Am I really that short?" Lomi asked, worried.
The painting we were studying was beautiful. Lughes had painted it, and done so with an oddly gentle theme. He had somehow painted me, Lomi, Crane and himself all sitting with each other before a fireplace. The only one not sitting in a relaxed chair was Lomi. In the painting she was clinging lightly to a chair's armrest, smiling and talking to me.
He had simply painted a mere moment. Where we were happily talking in the middle ...
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