The old dance hall pulsed with rhythm; an aorta pumping sound, brass, and tempo through ancient floorboards. She sat alone, barely present. Eight o’ clock had come and gone hours ago, and Sam hadn’t come. But she’d known he wouldn’t, didn’t she? He’d promised this time. When would she learn? She cursed for letting herself hope… again.
“You don’t have to keep holding that!” The voice of an old friend jolted her out of her reverie.
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