Every inch of the house felt safe to her, small and welcoming. But this was long ago. ’ Quick anger flared, surpassing the fluttering hope. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. You'd not know what to do without me, and shan't drive me off.
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