Charcoal. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. She fell asleep instantaneously, fatigued from weeks of exhaustion. But there was a face pressed to the glass. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. She would write to Gerald. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone.
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