We'll get together this afternoon; and you can pretend that I am your father. She was not quite clear how she should find it, but she felt she would. 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. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. I can accommodate you below.
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