“How are you feeling?” She asked. “I think,” she said, “that I rather like what you have said. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. ” John said. “We settled long ago—we’re hard stuff. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds.
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