Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. I understand nothing of what you say. You belong to me, and I have waited long enough. No man knew whence she had come nor why. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. The by now familiar dramatic sigh came. Sheppard, fervently.
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