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Loo Zijun felt as if he was meeting his wife for the first time.
In his few past memories of her, every time he saw this woman, she was wearing an old-fashioned cheongsam, her face adorned with a gentle smile lacking any distinctiveness, quietly standing there, with not the slightest presence.
Lacking sentiment, not understanding romance, unable to discuss Shelley with him, talk about Hegel.
He thought when he handed her the divorce paper, she would cry, be unwi ...
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