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I elbowed him sharply, hitting one of his ribs. It sent a zing through me, and I cringed, rubbing at the sore bone.
“Don’t call him that.”
“Why the hell not? That’s what we’ve always called him.” He scrunched his nose. “Don’t tell me you have the Stockholm Syndrome thing.
“Nog!” Clara clapped her hands like she was getting a dog’s attention. “You’re being a dick, and you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
