His eyes never left her face. It was true. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. Your life is like a funeral March. It was not in evidence here, not a sign of it. ” She took the blue box from her hoodie and held it towards him. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. John finally wrested her away from the company of his parents, insisting that he wanted to take a walk in the park before it was completely dark. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell.
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