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February 4, 2007
The spiral gardenís walls rose like ramparts, a dew clasping to their metallic leaves. The queen marched down the path, her powder-caked nose high in the humid air. Her plain daughter, the mother of a distant throne, dragged her feet as she looked for crows hiding in the foliage. The queen hissed and sputtered orders to her ladies-in-waiting. They tripped along over their heavy dresses, uttering affirmatives. The daughter peered into a bush and saw a hummingbird dart away. She wiped her limp hair from her sticky, pocked face and swooned in lusty thought of her cross-eyed betrothed in Spain.