There used to be a story in these parts about a girl who lived at the edge of a forest. People would say these words, to each other, Did you ever hear about the girl who lived at the edge of a forest? as they sat around the fire at night, as they kneaded dough, as they carded wool for spinning. Such stories, of course, make the night pass more quickly, soothe a fractious child, distract others from their cares. At the edge of a forest, a girl. There is a promise, from teller to listener, concealed in that opening, like a note tucked into a pocket, a hint that something is about to happen.
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