Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. "We must keep still. You are much more like what I was then. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers.
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