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. . . For no apparent reason his heart leapt within his chest. Not just anyone would dare to battle the deep turns and wide slopes that led up to the steep drive where this dark Cadillac now found its rest. Before he even cracked open the door, he could smell her. Her cheap rose and daisy perfume saturated the air and fried his nose hairs. And there she was, just like he remembered her, with her crazy black curls falling in front of her solitary blue gray eyes. She wore a vibrant, slinky purple gown that flowed well below her feet, not to be discredited by the gaudy gold jewelry that hung from her neck, ears and wrist. She was a small waif of a young woman, barely five feet, with a feather plume that stuck nearly a foot out her hair,and slumped to the side, its red color faded and dingy. . .
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