She had other boyfriends and hung out at Foster’s only bar most of the time. They had cried a little, both. “What is the good of talking?” said her brother. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. "I thought it best that you should imagine him. Some day I shall come back, and I will show you on canvas the things which have come to me up here amongst the eternal silence.
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