Martin said “Hi” to her in the halls every day now, a sure sign of trouble. " Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. 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. Not enough of them to make a difference. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. She stopped eating. My sister was scarcely likely to make a mistake. “She has nothing to be afraid of,” he continued.
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