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Summary
James bit into a laden slice of toast with the undamaged side of his mouth. “I thought we agreed that thinking was very dangerous,” he said, and though his voice was light Francis could feel a weight behind it. It was a weight made up of sleepless nights and crying jags; of Francis punching a solid wall and of James shouting himself hoarse; of the unbearable social calls and wrenching letters and pitying looks which they could not avoid. They carried a great many heavy things with them, now.
London, 1848: Francis and James try to put themselves back together.
Now complete!