She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. Their future would be glorious; he saw it in their eyes; he saw it in the beauty of their young heads. Anna sent her away. A sense of loss was amongst us. She lost it in the Mint. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. m.
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