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None of this is real, my dear. Not this house, not this conversation, not those shoes you’re wearing–which are several years out of style if you’re trying to reacclimatize yourself to the ways of your peers, and are not proper mourning shoes if you’re trying to hold fast to your recent past–and not either one of us. ‘Real’ is a four-letter-word, and I’ll thank you to use it as little as possible while you live under my roof.
