She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. "An audience might have frightened the birds. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered. “My brother’s room when he comes home.
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