I never even burrowed down into the trunk. Presently her aunt sighed deeply and looked at the clock. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. “I expected you this morning,” he said. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. “Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. "This is strange," said Jack, under his breath. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence.
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