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We were kissing by the time we got in the front door. Even though I knew he wasn't cold, I bundled him up in the duvet, told him that help was on the way. Something that told me that I could do this, that I could help Yves ease from this life to whatever was to follow.But I insisted that he take some Tylenol, and go lie on the bed. I stroked his scalp, too, and he relaxed under my hands. By then, I knew this was not a headache or a migraine; I somehow intuited it was an aneurysm. I had always thought I'd be a panicked mess in a moment like this, but all I felt was stillness. I was numbed out and hyper-vigilant at once, waiting for some word, any word about what was wrong with Yves.

I lay in the bed, the light on the floor glaring up at me.

Algorithmic methods have been applied in an attempt to remove automated downloads from the displayed statistics but no guarantee can be made as to the accuracy of the figures.

But when I wrapped my arm around his waist and pulled him toward me, we both fell forward, my back hitting the vanity as I struggled to cushion him from the fall. I'm not sure what made me get in touch with Yves when I saw him on Salon personals.

He also said, maybe about 4 o'clock, that he had a mild headache.

So it didn't seem strange to me when he asked to skip the market and head home.

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