She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. “So you’re the one my son has been talking about. “Been sitting on the doorstep almost for two hours. “Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. The aunt laughed. “Often,” he repeated, a little heavily. Half an hour's labour, during which he was obliged more than once to pause to regain breath, sufficed to make a hole wide enough to allow a passage for his arm up to the elbow. Aliva Trencher.
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