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And then he gives me a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.
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You love me. Real or not real?” I tell him, “Real.
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Finnick?” I say, “Maybe some pants?” He looks down at his legs as if noticing his outfit for the first time. Then he whips off his hospital gown leaving him in just his underwear. “Why? Do you find this” — he strikes a ridiculously provocative pose — “distracting?” I laugh. Boggs looks embarrassed and Finnick looks more like the guy I met at the Quarter…
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I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.” His pupils contract to pinpoints, dialate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs.
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There are much worse games to play.
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I am not pretty. I am not beautiful. I am as radiant as the sun.
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So it’s you and a syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans.
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You don’t forget the face of the person who was your last hope.
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Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.
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You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.
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I’m going to wake Peeta,” I say. “No, wait,” says Finnick. “Let’s do it together. Put our faces right in front of his.” Well, there’s so little opportunity for fun left in my life, I agree. We position ourselves on either side of Peeta, lean over until our faces are inches frim his nose, and give him a shake. “Peeta. Peeta, wake up,” I say…
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You’ve got about as much charm as a dead slug.
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It crosses my mind that Cinna’s calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman.
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Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying.
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I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now and live in it forever.
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