There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. The flush deck was without wells. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. “I’d never have a day of peace again, John. 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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