” “I am your friend,” he said slowly, “whatever you may have to tell me. He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. God, Lucy, that’s the stuff people wear to Phys. He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. Unless we can get some optimism into him, he'll probably start this all over again when he gets on his feet. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally.
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