Rhea commanded her. "Jack!" Her son averted his gaze. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. Both the janizary and the skipper arose as the others entered the room.
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