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. ” “For example?” “Your dyed hair. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. He sent me flowers. He figures them out, though. ‘No one would credit that you are three years older than I.
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