“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. As pretty as its owner. “To the best of my belief, I have never seen the man in my life. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. She would always be waiting upon this boy, he mused. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself.
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