Gravely he placed them in his aunt's hand. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. John spent the first weeks of summer backpacking in Europe, and she heard occasional news from Michelle of his whereabouts. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe. One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. “I am exceedingly sorry,” he said.
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