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If there was one thing Sam understood, it was guilt. It didn’t have to be logical; oftentimes it wasn’t. Itsawed at your gut relentlessly, tediously, until you wore it like a scar.
If there was one thing Sam understood, it was guilt. It didn’t have to be logical; oftentimes it wasn’t. Itsawed at your gut relentlessly, tediously, until you wore it like a scar.
