‘Yes, but I’m probably chasing moonbeams. At least the sun would not be as bright, which was a welcome reprieve from the mercilessly bright early summer days which had invigorated every man, woman, and child in the suburbs but were wearing Lucy down into acute fatigue, along with her hunger. ‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. ” He stroked her hand gently. Simply. No! That was impossible.
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