‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert. 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. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper.
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