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... eculein her world—her paintings, her sketches, and drew his portrait. They walked together, and in the golden hush of evening, they ended the day with dinner.

Deculein cut her venson steak for her, poured red wine without a drop misplaced, and raised the glass with effortless elegance. Sylvia took in everything—his rhythm, his manner, his voice—committing it to memory, frame by frame.

"You cannot find meaning in a life that hides from reality."

Of course, Deculein spoke t ...

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