| Dread was for Kathy |
  
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Dread was, in the winter, week-old snow without a foot-print. In spring, it was a great web woven by spiders across the doorways and upon the door. Summer sped the frail ship of my love to no safe harbour. When autumn came, it came alone and the only presage was dead leaves, and a bare page in the volume my heart had once begun to write Rain returned sometimes but she did not. Even beyond the moat of retrospect she is not so far I can forget.
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