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Maybe she was one of those people for whom satisfaction lay only in the future, forever slightly out of reach.
Time was unforgiving, it didn’t stop, not even to give people a chance to scrape themselves off the floor if they’d been shattered.
He was grateful to her for this; she still made demands of him. She assumed he was capable of more than the reveries he often sank into, able to do more than putter around the house all day. Now and then, her faith was enough to push the darkness away.
