His sister appeared. The sword, Jacques. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. Creeping along quickly on his hands and knees, he found the entrance to a covered drain, into which he crept. “Oh, theories! Being in love is a fact. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets.
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