Pole coolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade—white jade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. He seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. Once in, the constable's manner appeared totally changed. The young man had knocked over the siphon. Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. .
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