Stanley poured wine. That boy was the carpenter's apprentice, Jack Sheppard. Sebastian sat smirking in amusement. ‘That,’ he said stonily, ‘is yet another point over which we fell out. Clothes. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. Stanley. When the carpenter concluded his recital, Jonathan was for a moment lost in reflection. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky.
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