“She must have character. She found pieces of it on the blacktop near the green dumpster, amazingly small pieces considering the fabric’s original heft. The lad hesitated. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. I want my freedom. London Bridge had suffered a degree less than most places.
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