She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. Ennison, or any other young man. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing.
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