45.1

 I'm home from respite now. I don't know why, but it suddenly hit me, on the drive, that I'll never again feel your arms around me while we sleep, the warm press of your body against my back. You won't irritate or itch me by lightly stroking my skin in that way that you did until I'd get too annoyed and make you stop. I never thought that would be something I'd miss, but there you go, you ill-natured malt-horse.

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