There was no answer. Marvel, who proceeded to the cart, and took his seat upon the coffin. "Restore it," he cried, in an authoritative voice. 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. 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.
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