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. Visiting? Dressed for it, certainly. “I guess I’m not the only one who wonders about your past. " "Are you a nurse?" "Yes. There are pretty much three types, those that accept, and those who run away, and those who fight.
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