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I woke up at 6 am for no reason, couldn’t go back to sleep, and decided I needed to write this. But not finish it, apparently…the poor thing isn’t even drabble length.
Ted knew, of course. Later on he might pretend that he hadn’t, that he’d been led astray by the promise of friendship, or love, or cold hard cash—or his own damn stupidity, because he didn’t have too many illusions left about that. But it didn’t take a genius to work out just what kind of man Mr Stratford was well before you’d spotted the first spots of blood on his shirt.
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