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thoughts would come along. And so, therefore, would Abby. |
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By running out of the room earlier, he'd hurt her. Like it or not, he could feel her sorrow as if it were his own. And her unhappiness was his fault. |
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Dixie had deserved to be hurt for the pain she'd inflicted. But she hadn't deserved to die. |
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And Abby? No matter what the truth about her, he did not want her to suffer because of him. |
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And so he did the only thing he could. In the dead of night he crept into her room. "Abby?" he called softly. |
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There was no answer. The room was dark, and it smelled of her fragrance of cinnamon and spices. The sorrow that was not his permeated the place. He hurried to the bed. |
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She lay crying silently, her body shaking. He touched her, and suddenly she was in his arms, sobbing as though her heart were breaking. |
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His heart shattered in response. "I'm sorry, Abby," he said, his voice low, from deep in his gut. "I never meant to hurt you. I . . . I believe in you, no matter what's in those damned journals." |
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She hugged him tighter, but her weeping did not stop. |
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"Oh, God, Abby," he groaned, raining kisses on her damp cheeks, tasting the saltiness of her tears. He buried his face in the unbound cloud of her soft, sweet-smelling hair. "I love you." |
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Abby did not want to return to Jess's the next day. She knew what would happen, and she only |
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