At last she was roused. ’ ‘Who was to know if you would find your place?’ countered Martha. You don’t have to live forever to understand that. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. 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.
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