. “How’s the star?” John’s father asked. 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. ‘I recall my father speaking of you as a Remenham. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. For she and this old lady became at once friends. . " "Mr. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins.
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