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A short while later, Abby meandered slowly forward, ignoring the hardness of the ground beneath her boots, the constriction of her skirt about her legs. Her random route took her near the river, where she saw Lucy sitting on the bank, writing in her journal. |
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Curse that volume! Abby had an urge to run over, seize it, and tear it into shreds. Its contents must be immutable. Abby could not change the truth of what it said. She would still be here months, perhaps years from now. |
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No! She stood still for a moment, taking deep, calming breaths, and realized she was shaking. Not from the coolness of the barely damp air, though: from the effort of holding back her tears. |
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"I'll find a way," she whispered. "Wait for me, Mike. Please." |
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As she continued forward, she realized what |
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