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"Davy was gone."
The first time was like this.
"You are the most stubborn man I've ever met."
The latest incarnation of this argument started in a little pastry shop on Sullivan Street, New York City.
His first response was light. "You probably shouldn't have married me, then."
"I can't help it. It's how I feel. At least I know how I feel. That's better than I used to be."
She watched him push crumbs across the tabletop, herding them into a neat little pile. The busboy was leaning against the lime-colored wall, watching