Once before—but that had been different. “You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face. Stanley, “I am anxious. 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. A cat came and rubbed herself against him as he entered the house, and seemed by her mewing to ask him for food. A granddaughter of mine!’ The idiocy of this notion stuck in his craw and he could think of nothing else for a moment.
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