His soft, deliberate nods, the faint smile tugging at his lips... he was listening, but not to the plot. He was listening tome.
In the middle of my monologue, he took out one of his hands from his pocket, placed it on the shelf next to my face and leaned in a little closer. He didn't say a word, didn't interrupt. Just watched.
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I would like to be financially independent so I can make writing my full time career.
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