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She sat at the window watching the evening invade the avenue. Her head was leaned against the window and in her nostrils was the odor of dusty cretonne.
She saw a man of the last house pass on his way home clacking his feet along the cinder path before the new red houses.
Before the new red houses were built, there used to be a field where she would play with other people's children.
The children used to play and her father would hunt them in the field with his blackthorn stick. Her father was not so bad then.
And besides her mother was still alive. One friend dies, another goes back home to England. Everything changes very quickly, and now she was going to leave her home like the others.
She looked around the room, reviewing all its familiar objects which she had dusted once a week for so many years, wondering where on earth all the dust came from.
"Maybe I'll collect dust just like the objects in the room"
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