I never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. ‘You have no idea how dull the militia is compared to the Army. She shook her head. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests.
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