Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. Usually it was fish sticks and reheated noodles. He called to the other attendant, who held the torch. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. She wished to view Sebastian again if only to reaffirm that there was a human being whose appearance remained unaltered by the vagaries of time and memory.
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