The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. Pierre. And the fences are down for good. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain.
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