And where was that devil? Had the soldiers found him? She could not think he had escaped, for she had only just made it into the passage as they entered the library. ‘Of course I see that,’ she said impatiently. 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. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement.
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