She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp. Nothing to check their proceedings but a declining habit of telling the truth and the limitations of their imaginations. “Morning, Mom. The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer.
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