1905. Rebecca Mary took another stitch. Then another. Ninety-seven,
ninety-eight, she counted aloud, her little pointed face gravely
intent. She waited the briefest possible space before she took
ninety-nine. It was getting very close to the Time now. At the
hundred an' oneth, Rebecca Mary whispered. It's almost it. Her
breath came quicker under her tight little dress. Between her thin,
light eyebrows a crease deepened anxiously.
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