Benita set the letter down. Connie - her dear Connie, whom she had never even said good-bye to. Whom she had hated - really hated- for so long. But he had always been strong. He had lived his life on a plane of grand ideals and all-encompassing rights and wrongs. His view had been much longer than the trappings of his own life. And she had been the little mouse who could see no farther than her own nose, stumbling over roots and stones, oblivious to the oncoming storm.
-Jessica Shattuck
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