” He looked interrogation with a faint smile. You have a daughter, no? Madame Ibstock, I think. She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. Let me lie in Willesden churchyard. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. His hug became an embrace. Splendidly.
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