The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. He often wanted only to drive with her in the car, both of them staring at the scenery in silence for hours. It was empty. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. But Jack eluded their grasp.
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