John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark. In one of these seats, at the end of the aisle farthest removed from the chancel, the widow took her place, and addressed herself fervently to her devotions. ‘You think my father would not have married Suzanne if he had known? Me, I do not agree. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory.
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