Your time isn't come yet. She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her way of yawning when she awoke. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. ” She sniffled. take it slow.
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