She stood in the rain, in the chill, relentless rain, in a long pale dress, a girl without a name. Or perhaps she had a name, but she could not remember it. She could remember nothing. Not how she’d come…

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When I was twenty-two, I ran away to Prague, where I now sing to my black cat (who collects dustballs in her whiskers), eat chocolate for breakfast, and have lemon tarts every Thursday.