Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. He saw Enschede, making the empty sea, alone, alone, forever alone. Her tone was hoarse with passion. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad.
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