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But you can see me under this green mesh by Renée Francoeur

No YOU CAN'T COME WITH me, loverboy; they’d know then. I’ll tell the truth but offer no explanation: I’m going to Yellowknife for surgery. I won’t tell them that I will die if I don’t go. Perhaps they’ll think it’s a lump in my ovary or polyps popping up in my forearm—and I’m transforming into a teeth-baring, sardine-scaled sea creature.
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