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“Alone, mud-streaked, with weariness sinking into her very bones, a question haunted her— Was this freedom? The empty forest. Her fleeing, sick with dread. Was this what they had hoped for, all along?” — Eleanor Shearer
Alone, mud-streaked, with weariness sinking into her very bones, a question haunted her—
Was this freedom?
The empty forest. Her fleeing, sick with dread. Was this what they had hoped for, all along?