Then as each month, each year passed, it was as if the memory of you - of us… the explosion - were encased in a fine tissue-paper.' … 'I felt as if I were looking through a window to my own past, and instead of being transparent, my view was becoming more and more opaque, until eventually the time had passed. The time for coming to see you had passed.
( Jacqueline Winspear )
[ Maisie Dobbs ]
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