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Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.

Stephenie Meyer

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Edward helped, making faces every so often at the raw ingredients-human food was mildly repulsive to him.
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Bears, I muttered, adding a new fear to the pile. That would be just her luck, wouldn’t it? Stray bear in town. OF course it would head straight for Bella.
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