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December 21, 2015

 

 

The young woman trudged along the country lane and through the thick, cloying mud, which covered her shoes and the bottom of her bare legs below her knee-length navy skirt.  The exodus from the town she had lived in all her life had come so quickly that she was wearing the clothes she had worn for her job at the library, on the last day she had been at work; when, of course, her town still had a library, and not the pile of rubble it became after the bombardment.  She hoped her colleagues had managed to escape before the mortar fire hit.

 

She had never been a refugee before, but she supposed that she was one now.  She tried not to th...

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