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Desperation seized her, without realizing herself, she crawled forward to hide under the table.

“Please…” she heard her pitiful voice.

She understood that she had become her former self - cowardly and pathetic, like all people, under the power of fear. Her crawling under the high sewing table is nothing more than an instinct, an attempt to hide away from danger that has nothing to do with real salvation.

Dirty stains from years of unwashed floor blackened before my eyes. She was afraid to look back.

- Are you crying already? It's from an overabundance of imagination. Tears usually start later.

She really cried and sobbed like a little girl, unable to cope with fear and stupor.

- Don't touch me, please...

She was ashamed of herself, and disgusted that she could not keep herself in front of the one she was afraid of. The power of the hated man was disgusting to her, but now she was weak. The shadow behind him vanished for a moment, and something familiar flickered in the dirt on the flo
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