Her steps slowed. I had not seen the courtyard in many years and I was happy to dream of those times. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Before he forced an entrance, Jack tried it, and, to his great surprise and delight, found it unfastened. ” “John, do you remember me at all?” “Lucy?!” He cried in disbelief.
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