He leaned into me, laying his mouth against my ear and whispering so low it was like he was breathing into my ear. I said a silent prayer of thanks. You don't warn to go out that way. He just shook his head.
You hate the mystical crap. I know it's not moral indignation about the poor little calves, I said. His arms swelled against the sleeves of his T-shirt as if the cloth couldn't contain him. I didn't run, but if I didn't get out of there I was going to lose what little I had on my stomach or maybe faint.
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