“Annabel at last,” he shouted. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love. ” She said as she rested her head against his chest, eyes unfocused on the fading sky. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling.
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