He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. 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 are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. " This went on for ten days. He couldn't be in better hands than those in which he has placed himself.
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