To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. They tried to read illustrated papers in an unconcerned manner and with forced attention, lest they should catch the leaping exultation in each other’s eyes. She made a quick movement, and the hand fell away. ‘I’ll handle her better alone. We met dissecting dogfish. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him.
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