“Not possible. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him.
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