"Enough," said Jack, recovering his composure. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. The audience was made up of parents, teachers, and a few other curious folks from town, all sitting hushed in anticipatory silence as the school orchestra assembled onstage. He leaned forward to embrace her. I believe he’s divorced. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain.
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