And no ill-chances. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. She loves you too well for that. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. She stood there with white set face and nervously clenched fingers. To many in that crowded solitude it came as an extraordinary relief.
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