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He stood for a while at the entrance and took off his hat. He was fifty-six, with knees that hurt when he walked too far and a heart that hurt when it remembered too clearly. He had come from London by train, then by bus, then on foot. He had not told anyone why. To his wife he had only said, “I want to see a place.”

The White Crosses Do Not Forgive
Mar 28
at
7:10 PM
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