Proportion and Pacing: Adria Waters

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“You didn’t really expect me to stay forever, did you?”

Kurt glanced up.  She hadn’t even tried to keep the scoffing tone from her voice.  He looked down at his work-weary hands, the dry knuckles cracked open from days spent outside hammering, sawing, building this damn house from the ground up. For her. He turned his hands over, picking at a hard callous on his palm.  They used to be the soft, agile hands of an accountant.  Now, they were wretched and knobby, like the harsh Montana wilderness outside the unfinished wall. He cleared his throat.

“I think it’s time for you to leave, Angie.”

 

– Adria  

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