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... ot to foot as he adjusted his glasses for the umpteenth time.

He ran a hand through his slightly disheveled hair, attempting to smooth it down, only to have the wind ruffle it up again. His shirt, though neatly tucked in that morning, now seemed to have developed a mind of its own, wrinkling in places he hadn’t noticed before.

He straightened his tie, then loosened it, then straightened it again. Waiting was not his forte, especially not when waiting for Tabitha, apparently.

...

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