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Weekly Contest #101
There was something to be said for the scent of fresh flowers. No matter how rocky the outside world was, within the glass windows of her hothouse and her shop, there was peace and hope. It was hard to have flowers without hope, except maybe at funerals. Then again, for those that believed in the after-life or eternal heavenly reward, you could argue that even funerals held a glimmer of hope and peace. Not that Sandra had ever really been the religious sort. It was hard to feel terribly moved by the spirit when you’d walked in on the minist...
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