She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. God, Lucy, what’s it been, how many years?” “I’m so sorry, John. When he begins to notice things, I want you to trap his interest, to amuse him, keep his thoughts from reverting to his misfortunes. "Evidently he could not destroy these children of his.
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