The strangest thing came to mind the moment Edith realized she would die. She remembered the smell of horses. She recalled the day she had ridden out early before anyone was awake. A heavy fog had settled overnight. It made the world seem at once small and infinite. She didn’t ask permission because she knew her father would not grant it. It was dangerous to ride through such a blinding mist. She might charge into a fence or a ditch or a hedgerow. The horse was unfamiliar, and she inexperienced. She couldn’t remember why she had done it, but the feeling of thundering through the fog with her
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