"She has flown up stairs," replied the widow. ’ He threw one arm across his own chest and clapped himself on the shoulder. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. Many of the soldiers dismounted, and called for drink. ’ Fury rippled again. The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. Charcoal. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. She showered after she heard the door shut and the cars pull out of the driveway. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. He resumed his listening.
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