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My heart was crazy now; it’s too complicated to know what it was beating for, and how much of it was him and how much of it was the hunting – I think I cared about the deer that got shot – but it didn’t matter then. Something was there and its source was irrelevant. It was so easy to feel nothing, all the time, and I held on as hard as I could, because the worst thing, I thought, now, would be for it to go away.
