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On that bleak track, the sun almost gone again, tears were pouring down her face.

She was crying and crying for a girl who had died more than forty years before, whom, in any normal wolrd, to any normal way of thinking, she could not possibly have known; whom she had never even seen, though she had lived as her.

She was crying for herself, perhaps, and for Emily.

CHARLOTTE SOMETIMES- Penelope Farmer.

Blog of Penelope Farmer about Charlotte Sometimes