I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead. Surely it was a dream. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. It was dangerous for her to dare approaching him and she knew the tremendous risk she was taking, but a part of her demanded that he be found.
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