Ben had scarcely adjusted his oars, when the gleam of a lantern was seen moving towards the bank. Then he stood up and repeated it again. ‘You have said you do not wish to marry me,’ she accused. A murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom Jack was recognised. His technique had gained much subtlety over the years. 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.
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