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The Town at the End of the World...a Collaboration

[ website | Angels Fall: the Town at the End of the World ]
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hi!no delete please [20 Apr 2012|01:16am]
Originally posted by nikitagretzky at что вы вы видите на этой картинке?
Originally posted by diak_kuraev at Как делаются сенсации
... Получилось, будто митрополит согласен с нацистской символикой...
Получилось что "митрополит согласен с нацистами" ?
На самом деле получилось что
1)нацисты согласны с митрополитами
2)Митрополитам похуй кого они ведут за собой
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[01 Feb 2007|07:30pm]


I'm a new resident here, I'm Jessique Arco, and I'm a high school student, and I believe in everything paranormal.

Get in touch sometime,

Jessique x
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Dennis [19 Oct 2005|09:51am]

Not very long after this:

Dennis breathed heavily as he began his fifth lap around the track. The rest of the team was still getting warmed up, but he enjoyed these early morning practices. The laps gave him time to focus, to think without distraction or interruption. More importantly without his mother asking him what was on his mind or if something was bothering him.

He told himself that he didn’t believe what the fortune teller had told him. It had been a joke, that day that he and a couple of teammates had gone into her shop. They were just trying to find out if they were going to win the big game on Saturday and end up going all the way to the playoffs this season. She had done a reading for each of the other guys and told them the typical throw away future predictions that he had expected: long lives, love, success.

She told them that it was going to be their year. And so far it was. The team had suffered only one loss this far into the season, and none of the players had gotten injured. The coach was beside himself, and several of the seniors were being courted by football programs at big name schools.

But it had to be just a coincidence. It couldn’t have been the future. Not HIS future. He had always been polite to fortune teller and her partner in the past, even defended them from a couple of his more narrow minded teammates, but no longer. From that day forward, he publicly mocked them. He ridiculed them with his friends, calling them “hippie dykes” and deriding them as “no better than summer carnies, out to make a dime”.

He was aware that his mother had noticed a change come over him since his visit to the fortune teller. It was something subtle, something she couldn’t put her finger on, but she sensed it growing all the same. Cutting remarks and little digs here and there that hadn’t been a part of his character before were popping up more frequently. So far Marianne hadn’t been a target for any of these, but Dennis could tell that she was waiting for the time when he turned his venom on her. And he was waiting for it too.

But didn’t she deserve it? Especially if what the fortune teller had told him what was true. Because the message she had for Dennis was unlike that she had for his friends. Instead of telling Dennis of his future; she told him of his past. His past and the impact that would have on his future. Who he was, who he really was, and where he had come from. Sure he was Marianne’s son. But he wasn’t just hers. Regardless of how little impact his father had had on his life, how she had kept his father from him, there was still a part of him that was from his father. That was akin to his father. That belonged to his father, the mayor of Angels Fall.

Dennis threw himself completely into the pace of his rhythm of his body, willing his body to keep moving on automatic. Blood pumping, heart beating, lungs expanding and contracting, muscles, tendons and bones working together in a fluidity that kept him flying along the track. It was a kind of meditation in motion, to keep out the anger and the fear.

There was initially going to be a trip to the fortune-teller's entry, but I decided that was going to take too long so I skipped it. The way I have mental restructured these events has led me to make a couple of subtle changes to one of the previous entries.
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[27 Sep 2005|05:24pm]

Moving the story along from here:

Having just finished her meal at the diner, Amelia Holloway lifted her napkin to wipe her mouth. While doing so a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Cornelius E. Rutherford, Jr. reached down to pick it up for her.

It was a note signed with the initials "EW". Amelia had no idea who "EW" was nor how the note had been slipped under her napkin without her noticing it, but all the same it had. It read simply:

"The Bs are in the Lighthouse. Travel in numbers. Time is of the essence. 'Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young.' Do not let him join her."

"John Webster?" she asked of her former teacher.

"Yes," he replied. "This can't be good."
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[09 Jun 2005|06:55pm]

And the story continues from here and here.

The sky took a yellow taint. The air was thick with a smell so sweet that it was sickening. It was a mix of ozone and something dead and rotting. The clouds drifted across the sky as if in fast forward. People were bustling along in a quick but jerky way as if they were in time-elapsed film-strip from a fifth grade science class but all the buildings leered over the scene like limbs over a dark forgotten path. People tried not to look to closely at the ones they passed but offered quick greetings. It had been a few days since the meeting at the diner. No one wanted to mention what was talked about or the plans that were made. No one wanted to admit what had been decided that night. The Fall seemed to shimmer and shake...like something in the distance about to disappear beneath the tide.

Tim laid still. His eyes pushed from side to side under their lids. Nora sat beside him. She wondered just where Timmy was and what his dreams might hold. His mumbling had abated. His tender little flesh was an odd flaxen colour. His delicate body seemed almost ethereal. He seemed to be slowly fading out of this existence. Nora tucked the blanket to his chin and wished she could remember what was happening.
Her mind was drifting and everything from the last week seemed like it had happened a million years ago and to someone else entirely. It was a barely remembered nightmare. It was a horror story heard in childhood.

What was happening? What was happening to The Fall? It's inhabitants seemed more like shades or shadows projected onto a shaking sheet as it blows in the wind. No one seemed to realize just what was coming to be in their town. Except Tim he heard her voice. Her voice was like a gentle song and reassuring and though it sounded like gibberish to his ears, his heart knew the words...

"Nye",he whispered. "Nye has the key"
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im new [27 Mar 2005|08:59pm]

charecter-catherine jordan
age 25
sex female

more later
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Back at the restaurant [22 Oct 2004|01:16pm]

continued from here:

Dennis felt throughout the course of dinner with his mother that eyes were watching him, but every time he looked around to see who it was, he failed to catch his observer. After his third attempt to discover the source of the feeling, and now finally attracting Marianne's notice, he mentally shrugged off the feeling and devoted his attention back at the meal. It wasn't the first time in his life that he felt like he was being watched; he was pretty sure that it wasn't the last time either.

He knew that sometimes weird things happened here in the Falls. Things for which there seemed no reason, no source, but existed all the same. Dennis knew that many of his classmates felt the same, and none of them seemed to know the reason for it either, although when they were younger, they liked to sit around the schoolyard at lunch, devising theories. Over time, he learned that some of them felt it more acutely than he did, and some of them felt it less, but there really wasn't anyone who was really immune from the town.

Dennis wasn't really sure if his mother was aware of it; adults never talked about that kind of stuff around him. And it was one of those things that they never discussed it at home, much like they never discussed the subject of his absentee father. If ever Dennis broached the subject, Marianne found one way or another to quickly redirect the topic of conversation, and after a while, Dennis just gave up asking. It wasn't really like he MISSED his father; he had never known him. And from what he could piece together, he had never been a real part of the picture, at least not after Dennis was born.

He told himself that he really didn't care about his dad. That he had bailed on Dennis, so why should Dennis care about him. He probably couldn't even play football or do any of the things that dads were supposed to do. Things were okay with just him and his mom, weren't they? It was pretty much agreed among all his friends that Marianne was the coolest mom in the bunch. And although he never would have told her, he thought she managed a good balance of when to give him freedom and when to restrict him.

Marianne interrupted his train of thought, "Hey, you, you're awfully quiet this evening. You okay?"

Dennis nodded his head and took a sip from his water glass. "Yeah, Mom. I was just really hungry after practice.

"Maybe we should stop and get some ice-cream on the way home then? Do you think that a banana split would help curb your appetite?"

Dennis smiled broadly. "I think that might just do the trick, Mom."
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Some food for thought; some fodder for writing... [07 Oct 2004|06:25pm]

"'Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,'
Said then the lost Archangel, 'this the seat
That we must change for Heaven, this mournful gloom
For that celestial light? Be it so, since he
Who now is sovran can dispose and bid
What shall be right: farthest from him is best,
Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy forever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,
Receive thy new possessor--one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less than he
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence;
Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice,
To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven...'"

--excerpt spoken by Lucifer, taken from Paradise Lost by John Milton
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At Desmond's Bookshop: The Fall's Leaves [24 Sep 2004|01:03am]

Continued from here.

Desmond gently lay down his pen and pushed away the bookmark he'd been working on. He enjoyed creating these little talismans, but he realized he'd become preoccupied with untangling one of the webs around one of the highschoolers several minutes earlier and gone still.

One of the younger girls was about to run into some small, unreadable, random event that would spin out more possibilities, and more troublesome ones, than it would have been able to do in any other town. In any other place, not a tenth, perhaps not a hundredth, of what he saw whirling about her would have been possible. This place offered her the best and most dangerous possibilities for life. He sighed slightly and wished for the thousandth time that he could do his job by forcing people to leave Angels Fall. There were too many people with futures like hers here now, people even he barely knew how to guide, because their futures spun out like jagged lightning from events hidden from him by chaos.

He'd met people, most of them long ago and across an ocean or two, with futures difficult to read because they'd been deliberately clouded. Someone had clouded themselves, most inadvertently. They were usually the easiest to guide, once they understood. Some had been clouded by others, and that was a bit more difficult. Most of those who did the clouding were ignorant or inept, but in some ways that made them more dangerous. And of course there were his relatives on the other side, who understood his abilities, or had in the early days, before he'd learned, and they had no trouble making things difficult for him. The slow, painstaking nature of his work, and the fact that he wasn't permitted to act directly against them, meant they risked little by revealing their interference.

Despite strong signs that some of them were or had been present in Angels Fall, they caused no problems with his work. It was possible that they were simply unaware of his presence, but he thought it much more likely that they simply saw no reason to bother with him at present. It didn't reduce the danger for his charges much, not in this town, but it gave him time to work, and that was all he needed.

That brought him back to the problem of the girl. He'd narrowed it down as far as he could and gotten nothing useful. He sighed and got up to make a mug of strong tea. Sometimes it appeared that his job was to wait and deal with the consequences of some Event rather than guide his charge to and through it, but he was never certain enough of his ability or judgment to be comfortable in that situation.
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Just a bit to motivate resting writers... [14 Sep 2004|04:00pm]

continuing with this storyline

After hanging up the phone, Emmaline Winters wondered if she had just made a major mistake. This wasn't the first time she had made a deal with the Devil, but this was the first time she wondered if she wasn't on quite equal footing with him.

Agents weren't going to be sufficient this time. She was going to have to leave her cosy retreat in Coriander Place; she wondered who was going to notice.
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Reunited, and it feels so good. [10 Aug 2004|08:34pm]

[ mood | rushed ]

continues this storyline

Amelia let out a sigh, not of frustration, but of acceptance, and passed through the door that Tashir held open for her.

The diner was abuzz with activity. Some sort of muffled anxiety was going on towards the back, and people were fussing over someone lying prone on the ground. She immediately prickled, wanting to keep her distance, and while her companion went to see if he could be of assistance, she approached a seat at the counter next to her old mentor, Cornelius E. Rutherford, Jr., who was in the process of cleaning a generous serving of apple pie ala mode off his plate. He looked at her and blanched. Dropping his fork, he reached for his napkin and straightened his hairpiece, the motions of practiced ettiquette.

She was so tired suddenly, tired of Angels Fall and of this grand mission to save the community from who knows what. She had wanted to retreat from the world here, not get involved, and yet that seemed to be what was happening to her like it or not.

Reverting to his old habit of formal politeness, the professor started to get up from his seat, but she put her hand on his arm, indicating that the gesture wasn't necessary, and climbed up onto the stool next to his. Ever attentive at her post behind the counter, Doris placed a mug in front of Amelia and poured a fresh cup of dark coffee with a fluid gesture. It always impressed Amelia how Doris never seemed to spill a drop.

Amelia picked up her mug and toasted her old teacher, "Can't say I am happy to see you here, Professor, but I am happy to see you."

He returned the greeting with a smile and raised his mug to hers. "Likewise, my dear, likewise."

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Dining out [09 Jul 2004|05:23pm]

continued from here tying in Ruth's new peeps...

Just as they finished ordering their meals, Dennis caught sight of Nimue and Ren in their booth. He watched the intimacy of the two women in fascination, not particularly discretely.

Marianne gave him a sharp look, "Dennis, don't stare; it's rude. How would you like it if people stared at you because you were a little bit different?"

He hung his head in shame, but mumbled, "What makes you think that they don't?"

"Are you having problems in school, Dennis?" she asked him in a concerned tone.

He looked up at her, "Nothing that I can't handle, Mom."

They both played with the straws in the water glasses that the busboy had brought over when they sat down. After a few minutes of silence, Dennis broke the tension, "So Ms. Holloway was out of school again today."

"That's the third day this month, isn't it?" queried Marianne. "I hope that things are okay with her." Dennis moaned. "I know that you find her a difficult teacher Dennis, but she is actually getting her students to read and to learn something. Teaching them how to write well; that is important, especially when it is time for you to go on to college."

"IF I decide to go on to college."

Marianne ignored the comment. "You need to have good writing skills to succeed in a competitive university setting, especially if you are going to an Ivy League school."

"Mom, you know that I don't want to go that far away. All of my friends are planning to go to school relatively close to Angels Fall."

"Dennis, you are a talented student and a talented athlete. If that combination can't get you into an Ivy, I don't know what will. But I will tell you one thing, as much as I love you and would love to keep you close, you are going to school as far away from Angels Fall as I can send you."

They were interrupted by the waiter serving their nan and raita.
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Desmond [05 Jul 2004|04:43pm]

It was near twilight. Desmond rose and went to the door to the back of the shop, opening it just as Maddalena, arms laden with sandwiches from the small deli a couple of blocks away, reached the door.

"Thanks, Uncle," she said, smiling, and kissed him on the cheek.

Maddalena, called Maddie by nearly everyone but Desmond, was not precisely his niece. They were family, and, more importantly, comrades and friends, but the blood relation was quite a bit more distant than anyone would have guessed. Desmond had known once exactly how distant, but it no longer seemed important. Here and now, she was his niece, student, handyman, link to the world, and a treasure of warmth and kindness.

He watched her with the teenagers, offering them sandwiches, chips, cookies, shooing them toward the next small alcove to get themselves sodas or water from the small fridge, or coffee, tea, hot cocoa from the various pots and urns tucked away there, settling down on the floor at one end of the low, broad coffee table to tuck into her own sandwich and somehow also begin a conversation with the kids. She was much better at that sort of thing than he was; most people were slightly intimidated by Desmond in spite of themselves, and this particular group... He sighed slightly. All of them were gifted, to one degree or another, which was hardly surprising in Angels Fall. More surprising was that only one of them seemed to realize it, and all of them thought the slightly odd "vibe" they got from him was due to nothing more than his being their grandparents' age and owning a book shop filled with "occult" materials. He didn't particularly care to be social, but it would have made it easier to manage his tasks. Maddalena was an excellent intermediary, but he didn't like being so dependent on her.
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A New Character: Desmond [01 Jul 2004|10:25pm]

[ mood | sleepy ]

Desmond sat behind the long, scarred wooden bar that served as the counter in his book shop. He watched out the window as the sunset stained the cobblestones of Cooper Street red-gold and sending veins of twilight coursing along the cracks. The lights in Asha's tea shop across the street were visible, and he could sense her moving about, working as she always did when the shop was quiet for a moment. The more or less usual group of misfit students from the high school sat on the sofas in one of the alcoves, drinking some of Asha's teas at this moment, aware that it was damn good tea and made them feel better, but unaware of precisely why.

He sighed and slid a marker between the pages of the book he held. He was used to reading, making notes, and observing all that went on in the shop at the same time; he'd done that and more at the same time for decades. But Angel's Fall was stirring in ways that could be felt even in the haven of the Fall's Leaves, and his various projects, some of them sitting on those sofas and trying to make shy, halting conversation with each other over books about philosophy and witchcraft were just a few of them.

He didn't know or care precisely what the children were speaking about. As a young man — he wasn't a man, precisely, but thought of himself as one despite that — he'd eavesdropped constantly, focused almost mindlessly on the skeins and tangles of the present in others' lives. He was still slightly ashamed of the fact that revelation rather than his own morals had persuaded him to stop. And so he chose to remind ignorant of the contents of the conversation happening thirty feet away, and concentrated instead on the broader sense he had of each students' direction and purpose.

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[28 Jun 2004|08:55pm]

On the second floor there was a surprisingly bright room, with a big bay window
and several smaller windows on the sides, looking out over the nearby forested
mountains. Prarie had ordered a number of large potted plants, rolled out a yoga
mat and several pillows she had bought in a market in Kosamui, the island in
Thailand she spent her 23rd and 24th years on. She sat on the mat, cross legged,
staring out the bay window. She smiled at Anna toddling through the patch of
fresh mint in Sookis garden , while Sookie held up a sprig to Annas inquisitive
nose. Anna beamed, her chubby legs jumping a bit off the ground in delight at
the intoxicating mint scent. Despite the fact that her little blue dress was soft and plainat due to many hand washes, it was still obviously an expensive dress, carefully desined and purchased somwhere refined.

She had her plan forming as she gazed. She knew Ezra would turn the store over
to her with little struggle except the guilt of family commitment. She knew the
lure of her financial offer would be impossible to resist. It was obvious Ezra
was not interested in being in Angels Fall for very long. The ony real hitch was
getting herself rooted before Lee found her. A store, a house, a garden...these
things were solid enough to grab hold of her, she hoped.Time was growing shorter than the sunlight hours in Angels Fall. Annas jawline was starting to form into the shape of Lees. It was just a matter of transferring the money from the bank on the hugely busy corner near the dank, stagnant river in the city that was fading away....
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[29 Jun 2004|04:22am]

the inaugral post of a couple of new old residents of the Fall, co-written by myself and corruptedlust

they always sit in the same booth...Collapse )
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[28 Jun 2004|12:34am]

Yes, here I am making a return with a new character who is nothing to do with the main plot, who you can find introducted in the proper way here...

She waits, that's what she does. What she does on the days when she doesn't open the parlor, what she does when there's nothing to do but wait. The watiers here know her, and she always sits in the same booth, the one with only one bench and two walls of window. She watches the Fall, it's people, go by like a river, and she waits, and what she is waiting for is not always clear. Sometimes, she doodles in a notebook, ideas for inking, random words, the same name over, over, over like a prayer. Sometimes, she reads, paperback novels, history books, gossip magazines in French and Spanish and Arabic. Today, she does nothing at all. She sits in her booth, and she stares out of the window opposite her, and she thinks that, in a million different places different from and yet exactly like this one, a million women who is alike and different, with their hair knotted back or spiked or brushed just-so are also sitting. She wonders if, by chance, any of them woke up that morning, and decided to put on the slashed apart Cure t-shirt that is wearing over a black bra, blue jeans. She wonders if any of these parallel women even own this t-shirt; how defining was that concert, back when she was young? How much did Robert Smith define her as who she was?

Nimue Dante Finch sips her ice water, the Indian glass edged in faded gilt, and she thinks about these things.

And she waits.
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Mandatory Roll Call [25 Jun 2004|04:53pm]

[ mood | annoyed ]

On March 26th of this year, I posted a roll call of members who were:

1. still actively playing
2. actively reading (this is for all you watchers out there)
3. wanting to play, but just hasn't done anything yet
4. no longer actively playing, but is still reading this community...
5. other (please explain)

And we got a fair turn out of members replying, both old and new.

All characters whose owners did not answer the roll call were placed on a "not in active use" category, which has become much larger than we like to see. And rather than writing duplicate characters (case in point: Ruth's character Tashir the Librarian,) which not only gets redundant, but confusing as well, it was decided that players could chose to develop the characters not in active use, if they so liked, especially if the authors had not replied to the roll call.

This roll call is now mandatory. If you are no longer playing and you indicate that you would like your characters removed from play, that is fine; they will go into an archive (like Stanton Andrews, for example.) However, if we get no reply from the authors, then we have no other choice than, but to assume that you are no longer playing, and your characters will be placed in an collective pool that other people can use.

The cut off for this roll call is July 5, 2004.

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Housekeeping [25 Jun 2004|04:30pm]

I wrote this in reply to a new community member who asked, and I thought that I would post it for all to see to make new members more comfortable about some of this stuff and well as to get older members to voice their feelings on this... because this community isn't just me. :)

I think that as far as writing your own characters into the Angels Fall community that it would be cool to start an independent storyline if you would like. The characters can have ties to some of the other characters, like your character could know Father Bill from the Church or could like to go down to Murphy's for a pint or go to the Diner every Saturday morning for breakfast, but you shouldn't feel obligated that you need to join in the main storyline that is going on.

I am concerned that the main storyline is SO dominating the community right now that it is a bit intimidating to new community members who want to jump in and start writing, and that is definitely NOT what the community is about. It just sort of turned out that the story has gone the way it has, and a lot of that had to do with us learning how to write with each other, but I think that the existing community members would all agree that having other storylines within the community is a really good thing. I myself have just thrown in two characters totally unrelated to the major plotline that you are welcome to tie into your characters if that would make you feel more rooted.

Looking forward to what you are going to write,

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Prairie returns [20 Jun 2004|05:29pm]

[With our moderator's approval, I'm continuing the story of Prairie and Anna from way, way back.]

Prairie looked up from her reading and blinked to see that it was fully dark outside. Guiltily, she listened for Anna. The baby was breathing easily and steadily in her cot in the next room. She would wake up in ten or eleven minutes and howl with hunger, though. Prairie's own stomach was howling too. How long had she been reading? All afternoon, and then some.

Standing, Prairie looked out into the garden of 920 Flint Way. One day soon there would be curtains at this window, but for now she could see the young trees swaying a little in the breeze. Hesitating, she played with her moonstone ring. She'd been uneasy ever since she'd visited the shop with the blue velvet curtains this morning. Ezra the shopkeeper had seemed surprised to see her, and not in a good way. Evidently he had not expected her to come back to Angels Fall once she'd left.

Other things about the shop had changed too. Ezra no longer stocked either herbs or glamours; it seemed he had not had a human customer for years. But there had been a steady stream of ghosts, and he had rigged up a bell which chimed every time one entered. Prairie couldn't see them, of course, but she had enough sight to know that each one was agitated, disturbed, seeking comforting dreams, their auras discordant. Ezra's aura remained as inscrutable as ever, multicoloured, shifting, scintillating, far too complex for Prairie to get to grips with. Whatever the shopkeeper was, he wasn't the usual kind of person either.

Pushing her doubts aside, Prairie strode into the kitchen and switched the cooker on. There was barely enough time to heat Anna's supper, and Anna's needs came first. Prairie could ease her stomach and work out her doubts afterwards.
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