She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror. What is it? she whispered. But no one is beyond redemption. Yet the memory of that other-world remained clear and shining, colouring everything.
One thing she loved above all about Parkland Hall was the garden. less knowledge that always hung inside her, heavy, familiar, sometimes dully painful although she did not know why. The canvases were dark and macabre, painted in fierce strokes that vibrated in constant angry motion. She went to the far wall, picking her way through debris and scampering shadows.
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