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If anything, his hug made me feel even worse. Now all I could think about was the hugs he used to give me—great big bear hugs that would sweep me off my feet as he rubbed his nose against mine and tenderly brushed his lips to meet mine. This embrace was a ghost, the sort of squeeze you would give your Great-Aunt Margaret who looked old and wrinkly (and who you really did not want to touch). He was hugging me out of a sense of obligation, not out of a sense of affection.
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