The rain, which her mother said would hold off, didn’t. It came on an angle, striking her eight year old legs like a thousand little whips.
She looked desolate, a bundle of red trudging along the dirt road. Her long raincoat, two sizes too big, protected her brown skirt and jumper but not her shoes and socks as she squelched in the mud, avoiding the puddles appearing magically before her.
The car stopped: a black car with grey blinds at the little square-shaped windows. She especially noted the little fringes on the blinds. Even after the vehicle had stopped, the little fringes still danced.
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