She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. She whispered, “Another car is coming,” as lights approached their car. I. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. And for many years, that was the way it was. Without her, it was lonely.
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