“Please come home. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh.
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