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. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. ” Michelle paused awkwardly and pulled out a new Kleenex for her runny nose.
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