It would not burden him with any obligation. William Kneebone, Of me, Sir, you shall never be bone. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. 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.
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