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MLCD Chapter 7 || Murderous Lewellyn’s Candlelit Dinner
by SweetLiesBLBressemang in Bosch is a place one needs to see. It had three-story houses built of red bricks, gardens, small forests along the trails, and clear streams. A place where bell sounds, laughter, and the squirrels between trees create a lively atmosphere. In the morning, dazzling white sunlight pours down, and as the sun sets, warm, fire-like red shadows are cast, and at night, a cool breeze pleasantly flows through the air.
Shavonne and Lewellyn live there.
Shavonne stopped cutting.
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A sharp pain was tingling at his fingertips. Putting the knife down on the cutting board and examining it, he saw tiny droplets of blood welling up from a small, thin slit on his finger. When it was actually cut, it only stung a little and didn’t hurt much, but seeing the blood suddenly brought a strong pain, whether real or imaginary.
Shavonne let out a small groan without realizing it. The next moment, he didn’t expect anyone to jump up at such a tiny sound that an ordinary person wouldn’t have even heard.
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“Mr. Shavonne, were you cooking?”
It was Lewellyn. His cheeks were flushed red as if he had just run up the stairs of the 40 year old outdated apartment building near Bressemang.
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Shavonne quickly hid his hand behind his back. It was just a cut from chopping onions, but that was only true for Shavonne. It was obvious that Lewellyn would interpret it as Shavonne doing an ‘extremely dangerous act’ alone, ignoring his warnings and getting hurt…
“Did you cut yourself?”
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“Yes- No. No, I didn’t.”
“You did cut yourself.”
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“No, I didn’t.”
“Mr. Shavonne, do you know something? You have the face of someone who cut their hand while chopping onions and is trying to hide it to avoid getting scolded.”
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“No, um…”
…He had no words. If Lewellyn had been even a bit wrong, he could have made up some excuse, but he was too accurate. As he was trying to think of something to say, Lewellyn’s hand suddenly reached out in front of him.
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“I need to see how badly you’re cut. Give me your hand.”
A deliberately firm tone. Shavonne glanced at Lewellyn’s expression.
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“…You won’t scold me?”
“Of course I will. As much as I love you, Mr. Shavonne.”
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“…”
“Come on, give it here.”
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It seemed that when they were in Bunch, Shavonne was the one comforting and Lewellyn was the one being comforted, but since coming here, their positions had reversed. Well, come to think of it, that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. Just look at the housework. While in Bunch, they used to share the housework, but now Lewellyn took care of it all.
Making the bed, doing the laundry, hanging it to dry, sweeping and cleaning every corner of the house were all Lewellyn’s responsibilities. Cooking was the same. When they were in Bunch, Lewellyn cooked less than five times a week, but since coming to Bosch, he took charge of cooking all meals.
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Their lifestyle was changing. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say they were changing it. Like putting new wine into new wineskins, the two were discarding their habits from Bunch and creating new habits for life in Bosch.
The two of them looked as if they had nothing to do with Bunch, that cold and barren land. They looked just like people born and raised in Bosch. They looked like ordinary people that were born in an ordinary Bosch family, attended an ordinary school, and had an ordinary romance.
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The only aspects of life that remained unchanged were those filled with love. Conversations shared with a loved one, exchanged glances with a loved one, hugs and kisses shared with a loved one.
Ah, to be more precise, there was one more thing.
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“God, look at this floor. It’s a sea of your blood, Mr. Shavonne!”
“Don’t you know how to count? One, two, three, four, five. It’s only five drops, five.”
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“Mr. Shavonne, do you have a headache? Any nausea? Do you feel weak? When blood pressure drops due to excessive bleeding, such symptoms can appear…”
“Please stop making such a fuss.”
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That mouth. That mouth that seems like it would float all by itself if it were drowning, had no intention of changing. Lewellyn kept saying what he wanted to say regardless of whether Shavonne told him off.
“As I thought, cooking is too dangerous for you, Mr. Shavonne. From now on, please don’t…”
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“Let me ask you one thing. How is cooking dangerous?”
“Because you use knives. Knives are weapons that can take a life if used incorrectly.”
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“Lewellyn. Before you speak, why don’t you consider the fact that I’m a person who has been eating with a knife and fork for over 30 years?”
“When cooking, you also use fire. And water. If used incorrectly, you could burn to death or drown.”
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“How do you have sex with me then? You could die from overexertion if you do it wrong.”
The biggest change was Lewellyn’s overprotectiveness. Lewellyn worried about Shavonne’s every move. It’s not that he didn’t do this in Bunch, but it got particularly severe here.
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If in Bunch he worried about whether he might encounter a robber on the way, here he worried about whether he might fall down the stairs when going to the apartment lobby, whether he might stub his toe while opening a door, or whether he might get a bruise on his head if the bell attached to the door fell off.
It was even worse when they went outside. He worried about whether he might get into a fight with a passerby who accidentally bumped shoulders with him, whether he might be hit by a falling flower pot from above, whether the ground might cave in, or whether he might be hit by a carriage.
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So Lewellyn tried to stick with Shavonne at every moment. Sticking together. That was the extent of it. Since Lewellyn couldn’t give him orders, he naturally couldn’t restrict Shavonne’s movements under the pretext of worry. Well, if he had restricted him, Shavonne wouldn’t have been able to attempt the ‘extremely dangerous act’ of cooking right now.
All Lewellyn could do was grunt to himself. If Shavonne said he would go out alone because he was worried Lewellyn might get tired, Lewellyn would pace back and forth in front of the house, stomping his feet until Shavonne returned.
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If Shavonne said he would sleep alone on the sofa because he was worried Lewellyn might be uncomfortable, Lewellyn would secretly come to the front of the sofa after Shavonne fell asleep. Then he would lean against the sofa or curl up on the floor, waiting until Shavonne woke up.
And if Shavonne said he would cook alone because he wanted to feed Lewellyn something delicious, he would shake his head as if pleading, ‘Please don’t do such an ‘extremely dangerous act’.’ If he ignored him and cooked alone anyway, he would make a fuss like he was doing now.
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Although his behavior might seem trivial, Shavonne felt just as heavy hearted as when Lewellyn paced in front of the house or stayed up all night sitting in front of the sofa. Whether it appeared light or heavy, the fact that the behavior stemmed from worry remained unchanged. Worry. That is, the worry that Shavonne might not be safe.
The way to alleviate Lewellyn’s worry was not to refrain from doing ‘extremely dangerous acts’ as he wished. Shavonne needed to teach him that he would be safe despite doing these ‘extremely dangerous acts’.
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He needed to teach him that even if Shavonne went out alone, he would return safely; even if Shavonne slept alone, he would wake up safely; even if Shavonne cooked, he would be able to sit safely at the dinner table the next evening. He needed to free Lewellyn from his worries. That was what Shavonne wanted to do as Lewellyn’s family, Lewellyn’s friend, and Lewellyn’s lover.
He knew it wasn’t something that could be done in a day or two. Unlike shallow worries, deep worries like this don’t easily fade away. But that was fine by him because they have a lot of time. Shavonne knew that their entire remaining life was the stepping stone for the two of them to walk together.
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“Alright, alright.”
Shavonne was the first to raise the white flag. There was no reason not to surrender when he would be scolded whether he hid his hand or not.
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When he extended his hand, Lewellyn gasped. He didn’t expect him to calmly say, ‘We need to clean it and apply medicine. Please be careful when using knives in the future,’ but his reaction was beyond common sense nonetheless.
The wound, or rather the minor scratch that was hardly worth calling a wound, had already stopped bleeding, but Lewellyn’s complexion turned as pale as a corpse and he fidgeted restlessly. He tried to hold Shavonne’s finger, but suddenly, as if something scared him, he couldn’t touch even a fingertip and just stomped his feet saying, “What should we do? What should we do?”
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“What else? We need to apply some medicine.”
“Medicine? Ah, yes. Medicine. Where’s the first aid kit…”
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“It’s in the cupboard.”
As he spoke, Shavonne thought that he would need to be careful in everything to prevent Lewellyn from experiencing a mental shock.
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Lewellyn hurriedly brought the first aid kit and knelt down to start applying medicine to Shavonne’s hand. Once, twice. His trembling touch landed and lifted, then landed and lifted again. Shavonne, who had been looking down at this scene blankly, suddenly grabbed Lewellyn’s hand, driven by an inexplicable impulse. The trembling spread into his palm. Lewellyn was trembling.
“…”
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Lewellyn remained still with his hand held. The temperature of the two mixed over their overlapped hands. A cold, yet not chilling temperature and a hot, yet not at all painful temperature each settled on their skin. The trembling in his palm faded and then disappeared. Only then did Shavonne let go of Lewellyn’s hand.
“You were trembling.”
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Shavonne explained, shrugging his shoulders up and down.
“I couldn’t just do nothing while you were helping me.”
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Lewellyn just stared up at Shavonne’s face without saying anything. Shavonne, feeling awkward for no reason, was about to clear his throat and was about to leave. Suddenly, Lewellyn grabbed both of Shavonne’s hands. Then, before Shavonne could ask what he was doing, he unexpectedly kissed the back of his hand. It seemed he would only do that, but he pressed his lips firmly against each finger joint, fingertip, and even the nails, then pulled away.
Shavonne was surprised but didn’t pull his hands away. He just quietly accepted Lewellyn’s lips touching each finger joint, fingertip, and nail.
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In the end, it was Lewellyn who cooked that day. No, to be precise, it would be more correct to say that Lewellyn and Shavonne cooked together. Because Lewellyn took care of 90% and Shavonne 10%. He couldn’t use fire, water, or knives for fear of Lewellyn going crazy, but thanks to his persistence, he was able to pluck the stems off fruits. Of course, in his heart, he wanted to use fire, water, and knives, but being able to pluck fruit stems right now was enough of an achievement. The two were better.
While eating the onion steak, onion bagel, and stew with whole onions that Lewellyn made that day, Shavonne thought that perhaps ‘better’ might be synonymous with ‘happy.’
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***
A ringing sound coming from outside the window woke Shavonne up. Making an ‘mmh’ sound, Shavonne tossed and turned in bed before pulling the blanket up over his head. Perhaps because of that, the gradually fading ‘ring, ring’ seemed distant, as if coming from another world.
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It was a sound that always occurred at 8 AM. It was the bell that rang whenever Marie from upstairs got on her bicycle, which served as an alarm clock for the people living in the row house.
The bell wasn’t the only thing that acted as an alarm clock. The noisy record player sounds from Jean downstairs at noon, and the cheerful singing of Jacques next door at 6 PM also served that purpose.
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Marie, Jean, Jacques. Surprisingly, they were all Shavonne’s neighbors. Even more surprisingly, none of them had criminal records. They had never committed aggravated robbery, nor had they served time for smuggling, looting, or counterfeiting. Most surprisingly of all, they didn’t glare unpleasantly at Shavonne and Lewellyn, nor did they whisper rudely about them.
They were… kind. They greeted him with ‘good morning’ when they met, and suggested going for a walk in Bressemang Park on nice days. If Shavonne said he didn’t have time, they would ask him to let them know whenever he was free, promising to take him to a hill with a wonderful view that only the locals knew about.
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It was Marie who showed the shortcut to the row house, Jean who pointed out the good and bad pubs, and Jacques who told him about the small market that opened on Sundays. Once, when Shavonne asked suspiciously, “Why are you being kind to me?”, this is how they responded:
“Because you’re handsome. I’m only kind to handsome men.”
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That was Marie’s answer.
“I was trying to become friends, but I guess it was too obvious. I’m sorry. I just wanted a drinking buddy to get drunk with…”
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That was Jean’s answer.
“Oh, I just really like to be kind, so I can be too much sometimes. If it made you uncomfortable, I apologize. As an apology, I’d like to invite you to dinner tonight.”
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That was Jacques’ answer.
Were they showing him genuine kindness or a fake one? Shavonne had heard about the existence of genuine kindness, but never thought it would come to him. Uncertain whether they might be liars, Shavonne finally couldn’t resist and asked for opinions from those around him. Of course, ‘those around him’ only meant Lewellyn, but still.
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To cut to the chase, it wasn’t much help. When Shavonne relayed Marie’s words,
“Marie said you’re handsome? …If I remember correctly, Marie has black hair and blue eyes, so maybe Mr. Shavonne…”
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“I know what you’re thinking, but my type is blonde hair and yellow eyes, so don’t worry.”
This is how it went. When he relayed Jean’s words,
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“A drinking buddy? You’re not thinking of drinking alone with that balding old fart, are you? Right? Isn’t it much better to drink with me?”
“Yes, yes. As long as you don’t make me drink onion wine, I won’t be drinking alone with that person.”
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This is how it went. When he relayed Jacques’ words,
“He invited you to dinner? What in the world. That’s exactly what I did when I was trying to seduce you, Mr. Shavonne. Remember, Mr. Shavonne, that cross-eyed bag of bones guy is a very wicked man who only thinks about getting frisky with you…”
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“Is that your self-introduction?”
This is how it went.
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Come to think of it, it was only natural that he got suspicious. After all, neither Shavonne nor Lewellyn had ever received genuine kindness from others in their entire lives.
It’ll probably last three days at most, Shavonne thought, but he had been mistaken. Even now, three months after settling in Bressemang in early spring, the neighbors’ kindness had not disappeared.
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That night, after having sex and lying side by side with Lewellyn in bed, Shavonne revealed his decision to try to become friends with the neighbors. Lewellyn didn’t say anything. Then, out of nowhere, he spoke up.
“Please don’t go to their houses alone.”
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“…What?”
“Please don’t give them onions as gifts either.”
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Shavonne blinked. Regardless, Lewellyn continued with his requests, or rather, his wishes.
“Please don’t read books to them.”
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“Why would I read books to those people…”
“Please don’t give them names either.”
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“…”
Finally, Shavonne could guess what Lewellyn was worried about. Letting out a deep sigh in his mind, Shavonne turned and briefly pressed his lips to Lewellyn’s cheek. Then he said,
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“Don’t worry. I have no intention of giving them names.” He added jokingly, “And their parents probably already gave them one.”
When Shavonne asked if Lewellyn would also try to become friends with the neighbors, Lewellyn shook his head strongly. He said that if Shavonne ordered him to, he could greet them with ‘good morning’ whenever they met, and could suggest going for a walk in Bressemang Park on nice days, but he wouldn’t become friends with them. Lewellyn’s position was that he neither wanted nor felt the need to become friends with anyone other than Shavonne.
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Listening to this, Shavonne silently played with Lewellyn’s hair instead of saying anything. Lewellyn, who had been staring blankly at Shavonne, soon grabbed Shavonne’s hand and began to suck each joint on his fingers meticulously.
“Stop it. We just had sex.” Shavonne scolded him, but Lewellyn pretended not to hear anything and continued sucking his hand with a nonchalant face. Of course, in the end, Shavonne had to moan under ‘someone’ all night long.
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That morning too, the kind neighbors were still the same. However…
“I’m not having a good morning today. I couldn’t sleep all night because it was so noisy. So, I thought I’d let you know that there’s this furniture store in town owned by Pierre that sells good soundproofing materials…”
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“Nothing like a night of drinking with your lover. Shall I give you a bottle?”
“How about having dinner together tonight? Would you like to come with ‘that’ lover of yours?”
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That day, Shavonne bought the soundproofing material Marie told him about, accepted the alcohol Jean gave him, and attended the couples dinner Jacques invited them to.
Less than a month later, Shavonne was able to respond to ‘good morning’ greetings with “Well, isn’t it more like a good afternoon?”, and when invited for a walk in Bressemang Park on nice days, he could say, “That might be difficult, but how about a stroll in the small garden just in front?”
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A life as a good neighbor. A life of returning kindness with kindness was unfolding before him.
On the other hand, even three months after coming to Bressemang, there was little progress in living a life as an upright citizen. This was because the asylum procedure was very slow. It wasn’t entirely incomprehensible, given that all sorts of refugees had flocked to Bosh due to the impending war crisis between Bunch and Himdau.
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Shavonne and Lewellyn received summons from the Bosh Immigration Office at least once and up to three times a month. The Immigration Office’s focus was on Lewellyn. Well, it made sense. After all, being the ‘dog’ of the Lute Penitentiary, which was only heard of in urban legends, he was bound to attract attention in all aspects more than an obscure ghostwriter whose name wasn’t even known.
In the first month, they received a low subsidy that barely allowed them to make ends meet, but the next month, they suddenly received a high subsidy that allowed them to buy expensive alcohol three times a week. It was said that if recognized as a special political asylum seeker, one would receive thorough protection along with an enormous monthly subsidy.
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However, if not recognized as a special political asylum seeker…
“…”
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Anxious that the subsidy might be cut off, Shavonne decided to look for a job. Some might say he could use Lewellyn’s money, but Lewellyn’s money was Lewellyn’s money. That money had been used to board the smuggling ship and to buy a decent row house in Bressemang, not far from Chidristadt. On top of that, it had bought a skilled doctor to treat Shavonne’s body.
Shavonne didn’t want to be indebted to him anymore with matters of money. Even if Lewellyn said that all his money was Shavonne’s money and begged him to spend it lavishly.
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What kind of job could I get? Thinking this, Shavonne buried his nose in the newspaper every day. He did this even when opening and closing doors or going up and down stairs, even when sitting in front of the bathroom waiting for Lewellyn to finish washing.
Lewellyn, coming out of the bathroom, saw this and made a sulky face. “Mr. Shavonne, can I throw a tantrum?”
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“Go ahead.”
Lewellyn pushed aside the newspaper Shavonne was holding and thrust his face forward. “What is it? Is it because I said ‘I’m pretty today too’?” Then Shavonne indifferently pulled the newspaper back. Lewellyn pushed the newspaper aside again and suddenly pulled Shavonne onto his lap.
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“Put me down. You’re going to break your knees like this.” As Shavonne tried to quickly pull away with a flustered face, Lewellyn hugged him with all his might. To Shavonne, who was choking saying his ribs were going to be crushed, Lewellyn said,
“Does Shavonne need to make me jealous of a scrap of newspaper to be satisfied?”
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“What?”
“Hmph. Don’t play dumb. Who wouldn’t recognize Shavonne’s outdated jealousy strategy?”
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“Yes, yes. Think whatever you want.”
“But it can’t be like anything but a jealousy strategy. Who waits reading a newspaper when their lover is coming out of the shower?”
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“I do.”
“Mr. Shavonne, you’re too much. Instead of reading that scrap of newspaper, couldn’t you wait thinking, ‘When my sweetie comes out of the shower, an amazing night will begin,’ with your heart pounding?”
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“No, I can’t.”
“Lie down quickly. I’ll show you what resentment sex is today.”
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After placating Lewellyn’s ‘resentment’, Shavonne was able to find job postings for Gredin Packaging Company, Edom Fish Factory, and Bressemang Apple Farm by searching through the newspaper’s job advertisement section.
The first place he went was Gredin Packaging Company. Shavonne worked for half a day and was fired with the explanation, “You’re a good person. However, you don’t have the delicate hand skills our company needs.” He received a generous amount including his wages for the work done plus extra money arbitrarily added by a Gredin Packaging Company employee, but Shavonne’s heart was heavy.
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When he returned home, Lewellyn, who had been told to wait quietly, was anxiously pacing in front of the row house entrance. Shavonne said, ‘I’m upset. Let’s have sex.’
The second place he went was the Edom Fish Factory. Shavonne worked for a day and was fired with the explanation, “You’re a good person. However, you don’t have the strong stomach our factory needs.” He received a generous amount including his wages for the work done plus canned goods arbitrarily added by a Edom Fish Factory employee, but Shavonne’s heart was heavy.
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When he returned home, Lewellyn, who had been told to wait quietly, was sitting in front of the row house entrance, peeking to see when Shavonne would come. Shavonne said, ‘I’m upset. Let’s have sex.’
The third place he went was the Bressemang Apple Farm. Shavonne worked for three days and was fired with the explanation, “You’re a good person. However, you don’t have the strong physical strength our farm needs.” He received a generous amount including his wages for the work done plus a box of apples arbitrarily added by the apple farm owner, but Shavonne’s heart was heavy.
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When he returned home, Lewellyn, who had been told to wait quietly, was sitting on the row house stairs waiting. Shavonne said, ‘You waited well.’ Then he went inside and took off his coat. Lewellyn, who was holding the box of apples instead of Shavonne, stared at Shavonne’s face as if waiting for something. Shavonne said as he hung his coat on the hanger, ‘Yes. I’m upset today too. Let’s have sex.’
The next day, Jacques approached Shavonne, who was reading a flyer on the street with slumped shoulders.
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“Aren’t you going anywhere today?”
Shavonne said that he had to go look for a job.
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“Ah, so you’re looking for a job.” Jacques nodded, then suddenly turned to look at Shavonne as if something had crossed his mind. Then he began to carefully examine Shavonne’s appearance. Shavonne blinked in confusion, not knowing what Jacques was thinking. Just as he was about to call out, ‘Mr. Jacques?’, Jacques abruptly spoke.
“Mr. Shavonne., if you don’t mind, would you like to work at our shop?”
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From that day on, Shavonne began working at Jacques’ bakery. During his first month working as a clerk, Shavonne learned that there were workplaces that didn’t just exploit workers.
He learned that there were workplaces that, instead of cursing, packed bread and drinks for the way home, and instead of beating, bought comfortable slippers to make work easier. He learned that there were workplaces where on Friday evenings when the shop closed, employees would gather in small groups, stick cheap candles in leftover cakes, and share them.
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A life as a happy employee. A life where he didn’t have to resent anyone, a life where he didn’t have to chew over unjust memories before bed was unfolding before him.
***
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As spring was ending, the two’s asylum was approved. Although Shavonne wasn’t recognized as a special political asylum seeker, Lewellyn was. An enormous amount of money that would allow him to live comfortably for life would be paid to Lewellyn monthly, and upon Lewellyn’s request, a three-story mansion in Chidristadt, a privately owned carriage, and bodyguards who had a clean background could be provided at any time.
“Do you need a mansion, carriage, and bodyguards?”
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Mr. Tehaze asked. Mr. Tehaze was the person who had been in charge of this asylum case since December when the two first visited the Immigration Office.
Lewellyn, who had been fiddling with his hair, finally looked at Mr. Tehaze and said, “Ah.” Shavonne, sitting upright next to Lewellyn who was sitting with his legs crossed, felt a sudden rise of anxiety.
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Don’t tell me he wasn’t listening… it can’t be, can it…? It was a mistake not to warn him to pay attention to Mr. Tehaze’s words before entering the interview room. Foolishly, Shavonne had thought Lewellyn was the type to listen attentively to people’s words.
Yes. Until just before entering the interview room, that’s what he thought. Now he realized. What Lewellyn listened to was not ‘people’s words’ but ‘Shavonne’s words’.
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As he was sweating profusely, a sudden question came flying. Fortunately, it seemed he had been listening.
“What do you think?”
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What do I think? Is he asking for my opinion? As Shavonne was blinking, Lewellyn suddenly pulled Shavonne’s hand and started matching their fingers. Lewellyn’s thumb touching his thumb, Lewellyn’s index finger touching his index finger, Lewellyn’s middle finger touching his middle finger… A gentle voice followed as if all this was nothing special.
“Does you want those things, Mr. Shavonne?”
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No, whether it’s the mansion or the carriage, it’ll be Lewellyn’s, so why ask for my opinion… In his bewilderment, Shavonne didn’t know what to say. It seemed Shavonne wasn’t the only one bewildered, as Mr. Tehaze, sitting on the opposite sofa, said with a perplexed face, “Mr. Lewellyn, this is something you should choose…”
“You’re making Mr. Tehaze uncomfortable. Please answer quickly, okay?”
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“Well…”
Lewellyn urged with smiling eyes as Mr. Tehaze had a perplexed face. Shavonne, who couldn’t continue speaking, blurted out an answer.
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“P…ostpone?”
“Did you hear that? He says to postpone.”
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Lewellyn quickly turned towards Mr. Tehaze and smiled brightly. He was still holding Shavonne’s hand. Mr. Tehaze had a sour expression but didn’t say anything further.
Regarding the question about residence, Lewellyn mentioned the Bressemang row house. For the question about employment, he mentioned Jacques’ shop. Once residence and employment were confirmed, the conversation wrapped up surprisingly quickly.
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Except for one thing.
“There’s one more thing I need to tell you.”
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Mr. Tehaze said. Shavonne said, “Please go ahead,” and Lewellyn said, “What is it?” The next moment, neither of them anticipated that names they had never imagined even in their dreams, or perhaps had been carrying with them every moment, would come up.
“It’s about Mr. John Pharrell and Mr. Frasier Fawkes.”
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***
That night, Shavonne didn’t sleep.
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Even after returning from the Bosh Immigration Office, Lewellyn and Shavonne had dinner together, exchanged trivial jokes, and shared each other’s warmth from dusk until the moon, and it was like being at the peak of their lives. But in a way, it was also a day no different from usual. But it couldn’t be. It was absolutely impossible for it to be no different from usual.
He said both John Pharrell and Frasier Fawkes were dead. Shavonne could have stopped listening there. He could have just confirmed that John Pharrell and Frasier Fawkes could no longer harm Lewellyn and Shavonne.
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But Shavonne didn’t do that. “How did they die?” Shavonne’s voice that afternoon, asking Mr. Tehaze that question, was trembling slightly.
“A month ago, there was a scandal exposing the reality of Lute Penitentiary,” he said. “It was because of the military secrets that Regan Piche had sold to Himdau during his life. No, should it be ‘thanks to’ rather than ‘because of’?
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The royal family couldn’t ignore the public opinion calling for the punishment of those involved with Lute Penitentiary. They had no choice, as ignoring it would have led to protests that could shake the entire city.
All those involved with the Lute Penitentiary received public trials. Of course, this included John Pharrell and Frasier Fawkes, who were sentenced to probation.”
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― That’s a light sentence.
Shavonne said. Mr. Tehaze replied.
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― Don’t worry. There are things scarier than the law, you know.
During the public trial, so many stones were thrown that despite police protection, eight former guards were injured. The extent of injuries varied from small bruises to half-cracked skulls.
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It was John Pharrell whose head was half-cracked. Pharrell had become crippled due to a gunshot wound that wasn’t treated in time, and thus couldn’t dodge any of the flying stones. Thanks to the medical team that was on standby, he fortunately survived, but that wasn’t the end of it.
Pharrell felt his life threatened every minute, every second. Pharrell knew better than anyone that he would be murdered. He couldn’t help but know, as he himself had eliminated those who had attempted rebellion, those who had embezzled national funds, those who had secretly formed organizations to kidnap, rape, and murder international figures to damage diplomatic relations and cause war. His Majesty will kill me. His Majesty will kill me. He reportedly muttered such words to himself every day.
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Suffering from extreme fear, Pharrell’s mind soon began to break down. According to the explanation given by the psychiatrist who was in charge of Pharrell until the end, Pharrell saw hallucinations of dogs coming to kill him. He said he heard mocking laughter. He said he felt hallucinations of being burned with hot pokers and having his flesh torn off.
It was Pharrell himself who volunteered to go to a mental hospital. Pharrell judged that there was no place safer for him than a mental hospital. He firmly believed that here, in this closed place, the dogs would never be able to come and kill him. The insane Pharrell confined himself to a small isolation room not even four steps wide or long. Never imagining that he would never leave that place.
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Two days after entering the isolation room, Pharrell was murdered. It was through his meal; someone had laced his food with strychnine. As is usually the case with people who eat strychnine, it was a very ugly way of dying, and no one wanted to clean up his death. Not even his relatives attended his hasty funeral.
Fawkes also died. After the public trial, Fawkes had his assets confiscated and became penniless. He tried to find work to make a living, but no one would give a job to him, the one who had been next in line to be warden of Lute Penitentiary. He even was beaten up once out of nowhere for daring to ask someone for a job.
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In the end, he had no choice but to wander the streets. Living day by day by begging, he (according to his own words) became dependent on alcohol due to regret, guilt, and despair, and became an alcoholic in the exact sense of the word. He had disappeared recently until his body was found floating in a river in Bunch six days ago.
Shavonne said nothing. Lewellyn also said nothing.
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It rained that night. Every time the thin, sparse raindrops fell, there was the sound of grass wilting and the ground getting wet. That day, despite the sound of rain, Lewellyn didn’t have a nightmare. Only after confirming that the sleeping Lewellyn’s eyelids weren’t trembling, his Adam’s apple wasn’t bobbing, and he wasn’t twisting his body in agony did Shavonne also close his eyes. He didn’t dream because there was no need to dream anymore.
A life as a human being. A life where he no longer needed to be afraid of the rain was unfolding before him.
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Spring passed, summer passed, autumn passed, winter passed, and at last, it was early spring.
Much had happened in the world in a year. A predictable war broke out between Bunch and Himdau, a handsome spy straddling three countries was arrested in Barbara, and a revolution occurred in Marinov. A huge luxury ship that made its name known worldwide sank, a canal connecting sea to sea opened, and movies featuring gentlemen with mustaches began.
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But none of those were Shavonne’s story. Shavonne’s story was here, in a place with three-story houses built of red bricks, gardens, small forests along winding paths, and clear streams. A place where lively clear bell sounds, laughter, and the sound of squirrels between trees could be heard. A place where dazzling white sunlight poured down in the morning, warm fire red shadows fell at dusk, and a cool breeze pleasantly flowed through the air at night. A place where his family, lover, and friend was.
In spring, sitting on green hills, Shavonne ate bagels while Lewellyn ate onion bagels. In summer, they splashed naked in a shallow stream hidden deep in the forest. In autumn, they went to festivals and walked the streets wrapped in black cloaks.
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And a week ago, when an unseasonable snow fell in February, Shavonne and Lewellyn had a snowball fight in front of the row house. More precisely, they tried to. The problem was that they couldn’t throw the snowballs they had made at each other. In the end, the two just rolled around in the snow as if it were a bed.
Mrs. Marie, a neighbor who happened to see this, warned them to go inside and make love instead of catching a cold. Mrs. Marie was right. Shavonne caught a cold and groaned for three days. Lewellyn groaned too, watching Shavonne suffer.
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Shavonne and Lewellyn are doing well. Thanks to Lewellyn’s overprotectiveness slowly improving day by day, Shavonne and Lewellyn were able to lead their own lives as well.
Lewellyn did whatever he wanted. He tried writing (“It’s so interesting that I named the main character Shavonne”, “Don’t show it to me.”), drawing (“What’s that? A squashed onion?”, “It’s you, Shavonne.”), playing the piano, violin, and flute (“Can’t you play anything other than 《Cous Cous》?” “Should I play 《Yellow Yellow Yellow Squirrel》?”).
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These days, Lewellyn was most deeply immersed in collecting cameras and taking photographs. One day you’d see him bringing a wooden camera, and the next day a spring camera would be added next to it, and another day a pocket watch camera would be added next to that. Then he would beg to take pictures together.
When Shavonne declined, he started bringing ten self-portraits at a time. Then he would place them inside Shavonne’s wallet, Shavonne’s bag, and inside the glass of Shavonne’s pocket watch. Shavonne was slightly worried that he might even insert photos under the soles of his shoes at this rate, but he didn’t show it.
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Shavonne was still working at Mr. Jacques’ bakery. Greeting customers, selling, keeping the books. These days, he was learning how to make bread from Mr. Jacques, who was both a baker and the shop owner. It all started when Shavonne asked what kind of bread goes well with onions. Thanks to this, these days not only onion bagels appeared on Shavonne and Lewellyn’s table. Onion bacon roll bread and onion focaccia also appeared.
And… He has been writing too.
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It wasn’t something he had expected. Rather, it was the opposite of what he had expected. Like in Bunch at Grigsby Street, Shavonne thought he would never write again. He thought there was no need to live as a terrible writer, no need for his heart to ache, even here where there were three-story houses built of red bricks, gardens, small forests along winding paths, and clear streams.
So Shavonne stayed away from typewriters. Whenever a fancy typewriter on display looked at him, he deliberately turned his head away, pretending not to see it.
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Lewellyn saw this.
When they returned home, there was a typewriter on the desk. Trying to act casual, Shavonne asked, ‘Are you going to use it?’ but the answer was no. ‘Then I guess it’s for decoration.’ Shavonne covered the typewriter and pushed it to the edge of the desk.
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The next day, he moved it to the top of the drawer, and the day after that, he moved it under the bed. And then, in the early morning of the next day, Shavonne, unable to resist the sudden impulse that engulfed his reason, pulled out the typewriter. As he was about to place his hands on the keyboard, he noticed a note stuck between the keys that he hadn’t seen before. Shavonne took it out and looked at it. Something was written on both sides.
It’s really expensive >:D
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On the front, this was written along with the price tag.
And on the back…
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Warm-up exercise.
Copy this:
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《As he panted, he lifted her skirt. How could he! They didn’t share even a drop of blood, and yet he was her younger brother. Their strict father would never allow this relationship. Her hands trembled. But despite that fear, her body was soon soaked in his touch. I love you, he said, and then his lips touched hers.》
Of all things, he chose that… An unwilling chuckle escaped Shavonne’s lips.
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As he placed his hands on the keyboard, a familiar sensation touched his fingertips. The feel of the keys… His hands moved on their own. Soon, the sound of typing and the zirruk filled the house. It was a sound he had missed. Yes. Though he didn’t want to admit it, it was a sound Shavonne had been missing all along.
And so, Shavonne began to write again.
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“I’m heading out.”
Ten o’clock in the morning. Perfect suit. Perfect shoes. Perfect combed hair. After checking his appearance one last time, Shavonne called out loudly, and Lewellyn, who had been eating onion bacon roll bread and onion focaccia, rushed to the entrance. He was holding a coat in his hand. It was Shavonne’s coat. He must have grabbed whatever clothes he saw in his hurry.
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“I want to go with you.”
“Stay here and wait quietly.”
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“I want to go with you.”
Lewellyn insists. Instead of saying anything, Shavonne just stared at Lewellyn’s face with a slight smile. Only then did Lewellyn realize where Shavonne was going and stepped back.
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“Have a safe trip.”
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he hands something to Shavonne. It was Clover. Clover is a ‘sphere’ made of thread that was created when Lewellyn started sewing… following writing, drawing, playing piano, violin, and flute.
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At first, Shavonne thought it was a ball. But it wasn’t. Lewellyn said it was his eye. He even added a kind explanation that the white part was the sclera, the yellow part was the iris, and the black part was the pupil. ‘What about this green?’ When Shavonne asked, Lewellyn answered. ‘That’s you, Mr. Shavonne, reflected in my retina.’
After Lewellyn started taking photographs, there was a photo attached to the back of it, that is, the back of the eyeball. It was a self-portrait of Lewellyn, and even though the focus is off, Lewellyn said it was his favorite photo because Shavonne’s shadow was reflected in it.
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Anyway, Shavonne didn’t want to call it an eye, and Lewellyn wanted to call it an eye, so as a compromise, they named it Clover.
“It’s a lucky charm.”
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More like a lucky eyeball. Thinking this to himself, Shavonne nevertheless remembered to tuck Clover into his coat’s inner pocket before leaving. It was February already. Warm sunlight spread over the world amidst the chirping of birds.
***
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Inside Luca Publishing House, Shavonne anxiously checked his pocket watch. Five minutes. The lobby staff had informed him that Editor Ethan would come to the reception room in ten minutes. One second, and then another second… The clock hands seemed to be moving too fast. Even after taking several deep breaths, his pounding heart wouldn’t calm down.
Shavonne took out Clover from his coat’s inner pocket. (Sorry to Lewellyn, but) As he squeezed and released the soft object, he finally felt a bit better.
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Ten minutes. As soon as the clock hand touched 10, the door opened as if it had been waiting. Shavonne swallowed the saliva he had gathered. Thinking that there was no Adam Isle, no John Gray, no Fawkes, no Turner, his throat naturally became dry. It was the first time meeting someone who had looked at Shavonne’s writing as Shavonne’s writing.
“Have you been waiting long?” As the chief editor Ethan sat down opposite him and greeted, the words Shavonne had prepared suddenly didn’t come to mind. A greeting? Should I start with a greeting? What should I say? ‘Yes, I’ve been waiting long’? Or ‘no, I haven’t been waiting that long’…
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The chief editor, looking down at Shavonne, bursted into laughter. “You’re too nervous, Mr. Shavonne.” He added in a gentle voice. Shavonne, who had been listening blankly, finally relaxed slightly.
When the conversation ended, the publication of Shavonne’s novel 《Lute》 was as good as decided. The editor laughed heartily and pointed at the manuscript on the table. His large hand rested on the first page, over the word ‘Lute’.
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“Let’s print the name big. Mr. Shavonne, your name isn’t common in Bosch, so it will greatly help sales.”
Shavonne agreed. The editor took out a pen and scribbled something on the first page of the manuscript. ‘Shavonne’s’. That word written in front of the word Lute was shining clearly on the page.
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Before returning home, Shavonne stopped by a bookstore and bought the book Lewellyn had said he wanted to read the day before. “Would you like it gift-wrapped?” the clerk asked. Shavonne, who had absent-mindedly agreed and only added a condition when he saw the clerk taking out a blue ribbon. “Instead of the blue ribbon, please wrap it with a red ribbon.” By the time the Brissimang row houses could be seen in the distance, it was already early evening.
He had told him to wait quietly at home, but someone’s shadow could be seen pacing in the corridor. Should I be thankful that at least he wasn’t waiting at the entrance of the row house, or in front of the main gate, or sitting on the stairs?
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The footsteps of the one heading home unconsciously quickened. Step, step. The sound of his feet touching and leaving the ground quietly rang through the violet evening.
There, the one who came and the one who waited met in front of the house. The one who came briefly kissed the ear of the one who waited, and then handed over a gift wrapped with a red ribbon. The one who waited received the gift. Of course, not forgetting to grumble that the kiss was too short compared to the time he waited.
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As the wrapping is undone, the book cover is revealed. The title 《Alice Through the Looking Glass》was written largely on the book cover. The one who waited stared down at the book, blinking his eyes. And the one who came cleared his throat and opened the house door.
Beyond the house door, their cluttered home filled with odds and ends could be seen. A desk and typewriter, a display case filled with cameras, picture frames, records, and a bed… The two entered, and soon the door closed.
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It was a purple evening. A cool breeze was blowing, and each time it did, the large poplar tree next to the row house swayed, making a soft rustling sound. Twilight, spring, moon and stars, a cozy dusk, and a gentle darkness were settling over the world.
It was spring already. A warm spring that was cold but not chilling, hot but not painful.
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