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“You must be a guitar player,” she said coolly, still chewing a bite of her rib-eye steak.
“Uh…yeah,” he replied, surprised. “How did you know?”
“You have girlishly long fingernails on your right hand,” she responded simply, sipping her pinot noir.
“Oh…right,” he said, suddenly feeling very subconscious. He wondered again why he ever agreed to blind dates.
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