This was both painful and sad,
because she saw the tragedy of her own life mingling, and becoming
one, with Mary's. How similar. Her love for John MacCain---clean,
strong, yet ended by untimely death. Then the desperate, animal
attraction to a handsome, brutal man who had broken her heart, and
crushed the last of her dreams. He was his father's son..... Then the
emptiness, and finally the horrid, burning hatred of all that still
lived, loved, and desired happiness.
Her one hope now, strange as it might have seemed but a few days
before, was that the girl might still be young enough to heal, and
wise enough to seek that healing in the light of life, rather than the
darkness of revenge, which had so fruitlessly swallowed the remnant of
her years.
Mary woke to find a fresh dress and undergarments waiting at the foot
of the bed. After she had dressed, her mother gave her tea and
porridge, and to her surprise, did not try to dissuade her from the
long journey to the faded cottage. Both of them knew it to be a
dreary, and possibly dangerous task.
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