"Yeah," he agreed, "It really doesn't." They trudged down towards the Black Lake in the darkening light, Lester slowing his pace a little so he didn't go too much faster than tiny Sloane. He wished the lake was frozen over a little thicker; he would have liked to walk out onto the ice.

"I always feel like a mess in July," Lester added a minute or so later, "Not that you're a mess, right now, because you're not - just. I get it."

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