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. "I'm enjoying this."
"Oh, I am, too. Glad we came. You're welcome."
This made me feel slightly guilty, but if my guess were wrong no harm
would be done.
"I think I would enjoy living in Amber," she remarked as we went along.
"Me, too," I replied. "I've never really done it for any great length
of time."
"Oh?"
"I guess I didn't really explain how long I'd spent on the shadow Earth
where I went to school, where I had that job I was telling you about . . .
," I began, and suddenly I was pouring out more autobiography to hera thing
I don't usually do. I wasn't certain why I was telling it at first, and then
I realized that I just wanted someone to talk to. Even if my strange
suspicion was correct, it didn't matter. A friendly-seeming listener made me
feel better than I had in a long while. And before I realized it, I was
telling her about my father-how this man I barely knew had rushed through a
massive story of his struggles, his dilemmas, his decisions, as if he were
trying to justify himself to me, as if that were the only opportunity he
might have to do it, and how I had listened, wondering what he was editing,
what ~ he had forgotten, what he might be glossing over or dressing up, what
his feelings were toward me. . . .
"Those are some of the caves," I told her, as they interrupted my now
embarrassing indulgence in memory
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