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When he thought of her four years later, he thought of that icy February and the small stretch of sixth avenue where they'd held hands and broken rules and ducked into that hotel lobby where they sat on ottomans and looked at each other's lips but never kissed. And he wondered if there was really such a thing as second chances. When he walked out of the lobby an hour later, alone, and the man asked him if he needed a taxi, he didn't. But he took one anyway. If anything, just to get as far away from the girl as possible.