I’ve been thinking about how you were right, Mr. Dunworthy. I wasn’t prepared at all, and everything’s completely different from the way I thought it would be. But you were wrong about it’s not being like a fairy tale. Everywhere I look I see things from fairy tales: Agnes’s red cape and hood, and the rat’s cage, and bowls of porridge, and the village’s huts of straw and sticks that a wolf could blow down without half trying. The bell tower looks like the one Rapunzel was imprisoned in, and Rosemund, bending over her embroidery, with her dark hair and white cap and red cheeks, looks for all
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