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Hey, Effie, watch this! says Peeta. He tosses his fork over his shoulder and literally licks his plate clean whit his tongue making loud, satisfied sounds. Then he blows a kiss out to her in general and calls, We miss you, Effie!
Suzanne Collins
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Suzanne Collins
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: August 10
Executive Producer
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Writer
Hartford
Connecticut
Suzanne Marie Collins
Suzanne Collins
Making
Blow
Kiss
Toss
Clean
Shoulders
Plate
Effie
General
Loud
Blows
Tosses
Missing
Sounds
Plates
Watches
Tongue
Shoulder
Whit
Watch
Satisfied
Hey
Licks
Says
Miss
Calls
Fork
Sound
Kissing
Literally
Forks
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Why don't I just pretend I'm on camera, Plutarch? I say. Yes! Perfect. One is always much braver with an audience, he says. Look at the courage Peeta just displayed! It's all I can do not to slap him.
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But I have to confess, I'm glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together. I'm not glad, says Peeta. I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially. This takes even Caesar aback. Surely even a brief time is better than no time? Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar, says Peeta bitterly, If it weren't for t
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This is the first kiss that we're both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.
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The audience must be sick to death of the star-crossed lovers from District 12. I know I am.
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Remembering from last year how Haymitch's gifts are often timed to send a message, I make a note to myself. Be friends with Finnick. You'll get food.
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I don't know what it is with Finnick and bread, but he seems obsessed with handling it.
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You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real, he whispers. Real, I answer. Because that's what you and I do, protect each other.
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You call that a kiss?
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So what I'd really like is to try and conceal him somewhere safe, then go hunt, and come back and collect him. But I have a feeling his ego isn't going to go for that suggestion.
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I don't know how to say it exactly. Only... I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense? he asks. I shake my head. How could he die as anyone but himself. I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not.
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I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, 'So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?' I turn into him. 'Put you somewhere you can't get hurt.
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I don't know what I expected from my first meeting with Peeta after the announcement. A few hugs and kisses. A little comfort maybe. Not this. I turn to Haymitch. Don't worry, I'll get you more liquor.
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Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.
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We had to save you because you're the mockingjay, Katniss, says Plutarch. While you live, the revolution lives.
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They don't own me. If I'm gonna die, I wanna still be me.
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So instead of acknowledging applause, I stand there unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence. Which says we do not agree. We do not condone. All of this is wrong.
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And to us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.
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Each time I wake,I think, At last, this is over, but it isn't.
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