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. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. “I am going to America.
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