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Rosalie woke with a start, head throbbing and eyes burning with strain. She had stayed up late reading and scribbling notes. Trying to work out a plan of defence against what she still didn’t understand. Every joint ached with fatigue, protesting with sharp stabs of pain as she attempted to sit. Something had happened in the night. Her bedroom looked old and tired, curtains bedraggled, rugs threadbare. Even her hand-stitched quilt, full of the power and energy of love, appeared faded. She forced herself to move. Feet on the floor brought the sensation of rocks inside her heels, loose bones grating against each other, calf muscles so tight she could hardly stand with feet flat. She tiptoed, as tremulous and unbalanced as an age-struck crone, to her dresser and stared horrified at her refl