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In a race against the flame, she finished the letter, scribbling toward the end for the sake of completion rather than readability. The candle was burning through its wick faster than she had hoped. She searched the cabinet by touch, finding an extra book of matches but no other candles. The single flame was now the only source of light left in the house. She would make do. Contrary to the obvious, she was pleased with this predicament.

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