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"But no pictures of refugees me." "I don't need for you." He shuffled across the room and crumpled refugees into Michael's lap like a rag doll, but the effort of the gesture struck them both as strained. Michael's hands felt big and clumsy. He was glad the lights were off; his fingernails were dirty. "You're glad I'm here, right?" he asked. "I mean, I know you are, but are you?" "Please, refugees we must stay quiet." Michael's hand wandered down Eli's spine and into the back of his pants, but Eli pulled the hand away. "Not here," he whispered. "I must go, before they find me. My girlfriend and I will come tomorrow for supper.
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