Was this the Sunday when I rushed the baking, made extra, special small breads, because her friend, Lucy was visiting, and would be there when I got back, so quiet and ethereal with her almost white blonde hair, befriended forcefully by my girlfriend and invited round? I hoped to impress with my baking, would never have tried to meet up with her in secret, but formless fantasies were there. No, it wasn't that day; that day was in Winter. It had just started to snow.
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