She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. In Larry’s old Cadillac sedan, she sat in the backseat as Larry drove and Cathy sat beside him. “Are there others like you?” “Yes. They were looking for a guide. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. The attempt was unsuccessful. I will light the stove, and there shall be some coffee presently. She’s taken my sword.
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