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At
the
bottom
of
her
heart,
however,
she
was
waiting
for
something
to
happen.
Like
shipwrecked
sailors,
she
turned
despairing
eyes
upon
the
solitude
of
her
life,
seeking
afar
off
some
white
sail
in
the
mists
of
the
horizon.
She
did
not
know
what
this
chance
would
be,
what
wind
would
bring
it
her,
towards
what
shore
it
would
drive
her,
if
it
would
be
a
shallop
or
a
three-decker,
laden
with
anguish
or
full
of
bliss
to
the
portholes.
But
each
morning,
as
she
awoke,
she
hoped
it
would
come
that
day;
she
listened
to
every
sound,
sprang
up
with
a
start,
wondered
that
it
did
not
come;
then
at
sunset,
always
more
saddened,
she
longed
for
the
morrow.
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