Maybe half a year, counting this summer. Anna nodded as she briskly crossed the pavement. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife. 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. . All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat.
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