’ She struggled. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. But her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury. The man was my husband. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. After all, they’re history in the making. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet.
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