A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. He made a note of the idea and stored it away. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. She paused. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad.
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